The Right To Remain Silent
by SueB3
Summary: Steph and Tank are dismayed when Ranger plays his cards even closer to the vest than usual with the potential for life-changing results.
1. Chapter 1

Not my characters, they belong to Janet Evanovich, but as long as Ranger can come out and play I can live with that.

This beginning of this story has been parked on my hard drive for a while but with the insight and encouragement of a friend, (Thank You, Shandiss!) I now believe it has somewhere to go. I hope you enjoy the ride if you decide to come along.

**The Right To Remain Silent**

**by**

**SueB**

Chapter 1

"Babe."

"Hmmm." I was getting used to waking up like this. Ranger's voice husky in my ear, his warm breath tickling my neck, cradled in the strong safety of his arms.

I smiled and stretched without opening my eyes, "Good morning."

Wait. Something was different. I wasn't wrapped in Ranger's arms. I turned and looked. He was sitting on the bed fully dressed. Light streamed in the window

"Wow, it's late! Did I oversleep?" I moved to throw back the covers.

"No, Babe. I didn't wake you."

"You didn't? Why not?"

I checked him out. Instead of running shorts or his usual work uniform of black cargoes and collared shirt, Ranger had on perfectly tailored grey slacks paired with a lighter grey dress shirt and pewter-colored tie. A black sport coat lay at the foot of the bed. He'd tied his long dark hair at the nape of his neck. Not a strand out of place. Dressed or undressed Ranger was better than male model material. He cleaned up especially well. He was beautiful.....devastatingly so. My mouth went from dry to drool.

"Whew! Look at you!" I teased when I could talk. "Photo shoot today?"

"Not exactly."

"A meeting then."

"Sort of."

He wasn't being particularly forthcoming. Big surprise. It was Ranger. Recently, he had told me a lot about his business, but by definition, security means secrets. I learned from what he shared and didn't pester him about what he couldn't.

I said, "Okay," but I was starting to get a bad feeling.

"You're going away."

I had known this could happen. We talked about it before I moved in, not only the responsibilities of RangeMan, but also his commitments with the government. Commitments that sometimes required he leave with less than an hour's notice and be gone for months......or longer. Then, as good as he was, there was the ever present possibility that he wouldn't come back.

At the time I convinced him I understood and could handle the uncertainties. The work he did made him the man he was -- the man I loved. I told him I'd rather live with him, even given those realities, than live without him. Had I convinced myself? This was my first test and I was struggling. I knew it showed on my face, according to Ranger, everything did.

"No," he said. "Nothing like that."

I shivered as he tucked a curl behind my ear, cupped a large warm hand around my cheek and grazed his thumb across my lower lip. He tilted my head so he could look into my eyes.

"I'm going down to the garage and open the door. When I do that, I am going to be arrested."

His words jarred me out of the sweet reverie created by his touch.

"What!! No!" I protested. "Arrested! Why? For what?"

But, I was afraid I knew.

"It's Abruzzi, isn't it?" I asked quietly.

A while ago Ranger had killed Eddie Abruzzi to keep me safe. To my knowledge he'd never admitted it to anyone, not even Tank, but the story had become an urban legend that almost everyone in Trenton believed.

"Steph!" Ranger grabbed my hands. "It's all right. There's been pressure to bring me in on this. Everything's arranged. It's a formality. I agreed to it. It will happen quietly. I'll be arraigned. I'll make bail. Vinnie will bond me out." He squeezed my fingers. "Look at me."

I did. His eyes captured mine; his rich voice resonated in my ears.

"It doesn't matter what you hear........there...is...no....evidence."

I nodded. Believing him.

"I'll be cleared and Trenton PD can put the case to bed for good as a suicide."

He didn't say he hadn't done it.

"I should be home by dinner."

I trusted him, but my eyes filled with tears as I had a horrible thought.

"Oh! Tell me it's not Joe? He won't be the one to......," I couldn't finish.

"No," he said. "I have to give Morelli credit. The brass wanted him to do it. Guess they thought it might be amusing. He told them no. Said he wouldn't -- rather adamantly as I understand. Got written up. Reprimand in his file. He's taking a couple of days off," Ranger paused, "involuntarily. Unpaid vacation."

I felt bad. "Poor Joe."

"I hate to say it," Ranger remarked with a rueful smile, "rolls reversed, I think I would have relished the opportunity."

He checked his watch. It was utilitarian, black, Swiss. The one he always wore. He frowned, considered, then took it off and laid it on the table beside the bed.

"I have to go," he murmured leaning forward to touch his lips to mine.

This time I did throw the covers off. I was naked. My face flushed remembering last night and the reasons I was naked. It didn't help that Ranger's eyes went impossibly dark as he gazed at me.

"I'll get dressed."

He stopped me. "No, Babe. Stay here."

I looked at him questioningly.

"Don't want you to see it," he said simply.

This time I couldn't stop the tears. Ranger gathered me in his arms and kissed me breathless. I curled my fingers into the front of his fine shirt and wrinkled it beyond repair.

"This is so not fair," I said, "You're all GQ and I'm naked."

I felt the laughter in his chest rather than heard it.

"Babe! I like you naked."

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Not my characters, they belong to Janet Evanovich, but as long as Ranger can come out and play I can live with that.

I was completely overwhelmed by the response to the first chapter of this story. Many thanks to everyone who read and/or reviewed. I hope to keep you entertained with chapter 2.

WARNING for language in this and future chapters because the Merry Men just can't seem to keep their mouths in check. Or, maybe it's me who can't keep her mouth in check. Either way.

**The Right To Remain Silent**

**by**

**SueB**

Chapter 2

I was running on nerves fueled by the unexpected activity going on outside the building and the questions about what the fuck Ranger thought he was doing. I was pacing the hall when the elevator doors opened and the man himself emerged. He was dressed for the board room, but his demeanor said 'mean streets'. Past couple months, since Steph moved in, he sometimes came down in the morning with the hint of a smile. Not this morning. This morning he was looking grim. No wonder. I figured the news I had for him wasn't going to make things better.

A hush fell across the Control Room as the men sensed the Boss's presence outside the door. Out of necessity I had briefed them with what little information I had. One or two of the bravest, or dumbest depending how you looked at it, stole a glance his way. They quickly directed their attention back to the monitors when they caught the danger glittering in his eyes.

He gave me a curt nod.

"Tank."

I nodded back.

"Rangeman. Thought you might be late."

"Not my style."

True.

"Steph all right?"

He threw me a look.

"Fine."

So, he didn't want to talk about it. I went on anyway.

"She comin' down?"

He inhaled. Looked at me. Exhaled.

"I asked her not to."

I could understand that.

His face altered the slightest bit, his expression one of resignation. "Doesn't mean she won't."

"No kidding," I agreed with a snort.

He was done with small talk.

"Everything set?"

"Not if you ask me."

"Explain."

"DA's office called. They want a change."

"What kind of change?"

"Want you to go out the front."

I waited for his reaction............and didn't get one. Like he wasn't too surprised.

"So the DA's grandstanding," was all he said. "Is there a crowd?"

"Crowd doesn't cover it. Horde is more like it. I blacked out the front door."

"How many men did they bring?"

"Six uniforms, couple detectives, three squad cars, a wagon. The DA himself is supposed to show. They think you won't cooperate?"

He raised an eyebrow that said if he decided not to cooperate, they would need more than six uniforms and a couple of detectives.

Ranger and I had been together a lot of years. Seen more than one dicey situation. Our personal radar always kept us alive. Usually it was on the same page.

"Rangeman, this doesn't feel right at all," I said. He liked to work in the shadows. I hit him with my best shot. "There's press. Print. Television. You'll be completely exposed. My opinion? You shouldn't do this."

He snapped, right in my face. "Didn't ask for your opinion, Tank. The DA may not be keeping his end of the bargain, but I'm keeping mine. That means I'm going out there, by myself, no lawyer, no posse. We clear?"

He fixed me with a cold hard stare -- waited for me to agree. And finally, I did, against my better judgment.

"Let's get this over with," he said. "You've talked to Vinnie?"

"He's going to meet me at the courthouse."

"You know where the checkbook is. The funds are liquid. I'm assuming Vinnie will take RangeMan's check."

"You are going to make bail? Right?" I asked.

"It's part of the deal," he replied.

"Yeah," I countered as we took the elevator to the lobby, "so was the garage."

*****

RangeMan employees rarely use the lobby; they make their way in and out of the building through the secure garage but, this morning several of the guys were there waiting for the Boss. If Ranger was surprised to see them, he didn't show it. He met every man's eyes and with a hand shake, a clap on the shoulder or a grasp of the wrist thanked him for his support.

Hal, Bobby, Lester, Cal, Junior. They all wanted to have Ranger's back as he walked out the door. He wasn't going to have it. I knew because for three days, ever since I'd found out he was turning himself in, I'd tried to get him to give the job to me. After making his way down the line of men, he gave another reason for going out the door alone.

"This is my responsibility. I don't want any of you, either as individuals or as RangeMan employees to be associated with this. Understood? Just keep doing your jobs."

Reluctantly, each man nodded his agreement.

Ranger had already turned and put his hand on the doorknob when I realized the elevator doors were opening again.

"Ranger!"

He froze. It was Steph. She stepped out of the elevator and Ranger slowly turned around his face still and blank.

She had obviously dressed quickly. Thrown on black spandex pants and a t-shirt -- Ranger's by the size of it. It hung nearly to her knees. She'd tied her hair back in a pony tail, but strands of curls were escaping everywhere. She wore running shoes and she closed the space between them quickly before any of us could stop her. In one motion she launched herself into his arms her momentum knocking him back against the door. Her arms went around his neck as she kissed him deep and hard. In a split second Ranger was kissing her back.

I looked over at the guys. Cal coughed and cleared his throat. Lester and Junior watched with open-mouthed envy. Bobby shuffled his feet and stared at the floor. Hal turned bright red. No one was sure what to do but, to a man, each knew he'd be willing to march into hell if he could have one kiss like that.

Suddenly Steph broke it off. She released her grip and stepped back by a breath. Ranger started to say something, but she stopped him laying her fingers on his lips. She looked him straight in the eye and said, "Home for dinner."

She spun away and slipped into the elevator as the doors slid shut. Ranger turned back to the door, but not fast enough to hide the pure longing on his face. Composing himself, he said, "Let's do this."

And yanked the door open on the circus unfolding outside.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

Not my characters, they belong to Janet Evanovich, but as long as Ranger can come out and play I can live with that.

Warning for language still applies.

**The Right To Remain Silent**

**by**

**SueB**

Chapter 3

When I got to the fifth floor, Steph was in the Control Room hovering over Woody's shoulder as he monitored the cameras displaying the front of the building. He was using the headset to listen to the audio and trying hard to ignore her. She rounded on me as I came through the door. Relief flashed in Woody's eyes when he saw me; he was more than happy to relinquish his chair.

The cameras showed Ranger in an intense conversation with Trenton's DA, James Cunningham. I sat down and flipped the switch to put the audio on speaker.

Steph's eyes blazed as she pointed to the screen and spit out, "That is not what Ranger said was going to happen!"

"No shit."

"Why didn't you stop him?"

"Right," I said. "You tried that? Cause it works so well."

She frowned, chewed her lower lip acknowledging my point. I turned up the volume on the speaker. We could clearly hear the discussion going on outside.

_So much for keeping your end of the bargain, Cunningham. _

_You know how it is, Manoso, last minute adjustments. You backing out?_

_Look like that to you? I'm here aren't I? Your way, your terms. Can't say I'm too impressed by your little sideshow though. _

The DA shrugged._ It's an election year. _

_One thing you shouldn't count on. _

_Yeah, what's that?_

_My campaign donation. _

Cunningham laughed, glanced over his shoulder at the burgeoning cameras and hungry reporters.

_Don't worry, Manoso, after today, you'll have made all the donation I need. _

Steph was listening closely. "What the hell?" she asked.

It didn't sound good.

Lester put the live TV feed on another monitor. "Tank!" he called out. "You better take a look at this." He angled the screen in our direction.

I muted my audio and Lester turned his up. Steph groaned. The woman filling the screen wore a clingy yellow dress bright enough to make you squint and revealing more cleavage than morning television should see. She had big, big blonde hair and a voice reminiscent of nails and chalkboards.

_This is Lorilei Lipinski WZBN news coming to you live from Haywood Avenue. _

Lorilei, better known in Trenton media circles as "Lips" not because of her name but for exceptional talents relating to her mouth, was not celebrated as a reporter of serious news but more as a purveyor of tabloid excess. Many of her stories had featured Steph's adventures with burning buildings and exploding cars.

_WZBN is bringing you breaking news. We have it on good authority that Carlos Manoso, founder and CEO of RangeMan Security, Inc. is about to be arrested here at his world headquarters. It's not known at this time why Manoso is being arrested, however; he is the man rumored to have killed Edward Abruzzi, a well-known Trenton financier. _

Steph made a garbled gagging sound. Abruzzi had been a scum-sucking, low life, son-of-a-bitch loan shark who had tortured her for information. For that reason, Ranger wanted him dead and got what he wanted. At the time it had gone down as a suicide and Ranger kept his own counsel about what happened that night. He never discussed it with me or anyone else as far as I knew. Three days prior when he'd told me he was turning himself in for Abruzzi's murder, I had been speechless. I didn't doubt that he had killed the man, but I was sure he hadn't left any evidence. Ranger was too careful for that.

Lorilei went on.

_Manoso, better known to the Trenton underbelly as Ranger, is a former Special Forces operative, mercenary and bounty hunter extraordinaire who "allegedly" murdered Abruzzi due to an incident with Trenton's own Bombshell Bounty Hunter, Stephanie Plum, in whose company he is frequently seen. _

_We will bring you all the action of this stunning arrest live and in person and we hope to have a word with District Attorney James Cunningham a little later. _

Lorilei signed off then gave her cameramen a little shove. We saw her mouth, "Boys, get those fuckin' cameras in a little closer will ya."

"Tank," Steph said, "Is this a joke? What the hell is going on?"

I had switched back to watching the RangeMan cameras, but I didn't have time to answer, because one of the detectives had sidled over to mumble in the DA's ear. Cunningham agreed with whatever was said because he nodded, gave Ranger a snide smile and walked away.

The detective wasn't one I knew. His middle years had not been kind to him. A huge gut hung over his belt and severely strained the buttons of his shirt. He plucked his credentials out of his jacket pocket and flipped them open as he deliberately stepped into Ranger's personal space.

_Ricardo Carlos Manoso, you are under arrest for the murder of Edward Abruzzi. You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you .............._

As the detective began his Miranda warning, two of the six uniforms, who been standing in a loose circle around the group, stepped forward each one putting a hand on Ranger's shoulder. With more force than seemed necessary, they wrenched his arms behind his back and tightly cuffed his wrists. Ranger's only reaction, probably unnoticed by anyone but those of us who knew him well, was a slight lift of his chin.

A low murmur went around the room. Lester softly voiced our unanimous opinion, "Fuckers are playing hardball."

"What would you do Santos," Bobby replied, "if you were taking the Boss into custody?"

Steph held onto my shoulder with both hands. I knew her fingers were leaving a mark I'd have to explain to Lula later.

The officers escorted their prisoner toward a waiting squad car. One of them opened the rear door and the second put his hand on Ranger's head to guide him into the back seat. He was half way in when a loud male voice called out from somewhere in the crowd.

_Hey, Manoso! Who's going to fuck the Bombshell Bounty Hunter now?_

Shit!

I could see it coming and I couldn't do a thing about it. Instead of folding into the car, Ranger straightened up and turned sharply searching for the voice's owner. His sudden movement surprised the uniforms and they responded with their batons. Ranger withstood the first couple blows, but with six men and his hands cuffed behind him, he didn't stand a chance. A hard rap caught him on the side of the head, another at the base of his neck. He sank to his knees, a cut opening over his eye. He was down, but the beating didn't stop until the uniforms had delivered another round of blows to his head and shoulders and one punishing kick to his ribs. Then they hauled him to his feet and threw him into the car, dazed and bloodied.

"Motherfuckers!" "Jesus Christ!" "Goddamn!" "Shit"

Chairs scraped back and a couple tipped and clattered to the floor as the Control Room erupted in epithets. Every man, including me, got up and headed for the door, but Steph got there first. She planted her feet and spread her arms to grasp the framing on either side, blocking our way. Five foot nothin' versus twenty-five hundred plus pounds of angry mercenaries. Any one of us could have batted her away like a fly, not that we would, Ranger would kill us one by one and slowly. Tears streamed down her face, but she stood her ground.

"No," she commanded. "I don't know what's going on here, but you can't help him by going out there acting like thugs and getting yourselves arrested or shot. What would Ranger want us to do?"

It was Hal who answered, looking around the room to single out the men who had been in the lobby. "He already told us," he said. "Just keep doing our jobs."

TBC

I hate to leave Ranger in these dire straights but, I'm going out of town next week and I don't believe I can get the the next chapter posted before I go. Never fear, I have not abandoned this story! While time and opportunity to write will be spotty while I am gone, I expect to have a lot of time to think and I trust that will be a good thing. Many thanks for reading and please forgive me for the delay. To coin a phrase - I'll be back. SueB


	4. Chapter 4

Not my characters (except for the ones you don't recognize), they belong to Janet Evanovich, but as long as Ranger can come out and play I can live with that.

I'm back!! Sorry for the delay on this chapter. Many thanks for your patience. The language Warning still applies.

**The Right To Remain Silent**

**by**

**SueB**

Chapter 4

The air still vibrated with anger but the men stood down.

What they wanted was to kick some Trenton PD ass, but one by one they righted chairs and returned to their duties reluctantly acknowledging the validity of Steph's words.

"Sorry, Bomber." "You're right." "We'll find another way." "They won't get away with this. We'll make sure."

She held it together until Santos took her in his arms and whispered, "Don't worry, Beautiful, the Boss will be okay."

She gave him a quick hug and fled to Ranger's office closing the door behind her.

Once the action was over the media dispersed quickly -- scrambling for deadlines -- leaving only the WZBN news van. Our cameras showed Lips preparing for her promised interview with James Cunningham.

The DA smoothed a hand across his hair, shot the cuffs of his fashionable suit and checked his teeth in the van's side view mirror, preening for his upcoming air time.

When Lips grabbed her microphone, Santos again fed us the coverage.

_This is Lorilei Lipinski WZBN news still coming to you live from Haywood Avenue where we have just witnessed the stunning arrest of Carlos Manoso, the founder and CEO of RangeMan Security, Inc. for the murder of Edward Abruzzi. _

"She's got a thing for that word -- stunning," Bobby observed.

"Yeah, I'd like to stun her," Junior growled.

"Can it!" I ordered. "Let's hear what they have to say."

Lorilei continued.

_With us now is Trenton's esteemed District Attorney, James..........._

"Esteemed asshole!" "Esteemed motherfucker!" "Esteemed piece of shit!"

"Shut up!" I roared.

_Cunningham. Mr Cunningham, from our vantage point, it looked like the arrest of Carlos Manoso didn't go exactly as planned. Tell us, did Trenton's finest overreact? _

James Cunningham offered a snake oil sales man's smile to the cameras as he said, _First, Lorilei, thank you for having me. _

Immediately he changed into the hard hitting man of justice. _Our fine Trenton police officers used their extensive training and sharp instincts to subdue a suspect who was clearly resisting arrest. _

Lips raised two perfectly arched eyebrows in surprise. _It took six men with batons to subdue a suspect who was already handcuffed? _

The DA became even more serious. _Carlos Manoso is a dangerous man who is known to possess deadly skills. We couldn't afford to take any chances. _

To her credit, Lips persisted. _But, hasn't Mr. Manoso aided your office in apprehending some of Trenton's criminal element? _

_Let me just say, Lorilei, that it takes one to know one. It's true Manoso has been useful in the past, however, for years he has skated on the wrong side of the law and this office can no longer look the other way no matter how helpful he has been -- particularly when it comes to cold-blooded murder. _

"Cocksucker's been more than happy for the Boss's help," Santos grumbled. "Now he's gonna throw him under the bus? What the fuck is happening here?"

_Lorilei, if you have a bad apple, you toss it before it ruins the whole barrel. If you have an infected toe, you cut it off before you lose the foot. That's all I'm doing -- ridding Trenton of an infection before it undermines the city's entire moral foundation. I'm cutting out the rot and garbage before it can spread throughout our fine state. _

"We sure this guy is only running for reelection as DA?" Bobby inquired. "Sounds more like the governor's mansion."

Lips had one more question. _Can you tell us why you have made this arrest now after all this time when originally Edward Abruzzi's death was officially ruled a suicide? _

Cunningham chided_, Now Lorilei, if I told you everything I wouldn't have any surprises left for court would I? I'm on my way there now to make certain Carlos Manoso does not escape the punishment he certainly deserves for his crimes. _

Shit!

The DA smiled again for the cameras and strode purposefully toward a waiting car.

_And, there you have it,_ Lips proclaimed. _Stay tuned and we will keep you up to date with the latest __information on this fascinating........_

I signaled to Santos to cut the feed. This time the men stayed silent looking to me for direction. They were used to my being in command when Ranger was 'in the wind.' I had to lead now if we were going to help him.

I stood up, drawing every eye.

"Okay," I said, "I don't know any more about what is going on here than you do. If Ranger knew what was likely to go down, for whatever reason he didn't share it with me."

I stopped, my gaze sweeping the room. "We are soldiers. We like to take action but, as soldiers, we know the value of good intelligence and how fucked a mission is without it. We all saw the same thing. It wasn't pretty and it looks like Ranger is in trouble. Considering what we heard from Cunningham -- maybe big trouble. But before we can attack we need information. Review our tapes. Make a list. I want complete dossiers on everyone in that crowd from Cunningham on down. Run face recognition on the people we don't know. I especially want a face and name to go with that voice."

The men knew what voice I was talking about and from my tone they knew how badly I wanted the information.

There was a rumble of agreement as everyone who wasn't on monitor duty filed out to begin the research process.

Bobby hung back. He motioned toward Ranger's office. "Think Steph's okay?"

"I'll check on her before I go to the courthouse."

The morning had barely started and I was exhausted. I rubbed my hand down my face as I made a mental list of the things that would need to be done if -- when Ranger went to jail.

Bobby's voice broke into my thoughts. "He'll need medical attention."

I nodded. "I'll see he gets it."

"Bail's not likely."

"Dammit, Bobby, you think I don't know that?" I snapped, immediately regretting my outburst. "Man, I'm sorry," I apologized. "It's just that I can't figure any of this out. Nothing makes sense, beginning with Ranger's agreeing to turn himself in."

"He must have had his reasons," Bobby said.

"Must have," I agreed. "That's what scares me."

I knocked softly on the door to Ranger's office and went in without waiting for a response. I wasn't sure what I would find. Steph was strong -- stronger than she gave herself credit for, but seeing Ranger brutalized couldn't have been easy for her. Hell, it wasn't easy for any of us. She sat at his computer watching an online replay of Cunningham's interview.

When I closed the door to give us some privacy she paused the video, filling the screen with the DA's oily smile.

Silence stretched between us until I couldn't stand it.

"Steph?"

She didn't turn around.

"Did he know, Tank?"

"What do you mean?"

"This morning. Did he know what was going to happen?" Her voice came out small and flat.

She took me by surprise. I thought about Ranger's lack of resistance to the change in the deal, his insistence on going out alone. Without anything except my gut to go on, I didn't want to share any suspicions with her. Not yet anyway.

"I don't know," I answered.

I hesitated a second too long. She spun around, angry.

"When did he tell you he was turning himself in? Why did he do it if there is no evidence? Not that I doubt he killed Abruzzi. We both know he did it. He did it for me! And where the hell was his lawyer?"

Suddenly it was all too much. Her eyes filled with tears. I went to her and knelt beside the chair so I could hold her. She struggled to regain control.

"There's not going to be any bail," she said softly. "He's already hurt and it's so dangerous for him in jail -- half the population is in there because of him. I don't want him to die."

I tried to sooth her, gently patting her back. "Ranger can handle himself, Steph. He'll be okay, you'll see. It will all get straightened out."

She was quiet for a minute and then she said, "Tank, if he knew, then everything he told me this morning was a lie."

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

Not my characters (except for the ones you don't recognize), they belong to Janet Evanovich, but as long as Ranger can come out and play I can live with that.

Language warning is still in effect. I don't know a whole lot about the New Jersey court system (or fortunately any court system for that matter) and this is fiction after all so I made most of it up. It sounded real enough to me, but if it isn't, please forgive me.

**The Right To Remain Silent**

**by**

**SueB**

Chapter 5

"You in an all-fired hurry to go fuck a duck, Vinnie?"

I grabbed the owner and operator of Vincent Plum Bail Bonds by the scruff of his weaselly little neck and lifted him off the ground as he attempted to scurry down the stairs of the courthouse.

"Whadda ya think your doin'?" I asked.

"Hey!" he squealed, feet dangling. "Hey! Hey!"

"You're goin' the wrong way," I said, spinning him around so he was headed back toward the doors, dropping him and giving him a push so he had no question about which direction I wanted him to go.

He'd been in such a rush he hadn't even seen me. Being Black, bald and three hundred plus pounds, I'm not easy to miss. Granted I looked a little different from usual. At Steph's suggestion, I had traded my RangeMan uniform for jeans, polo shirt and a baseball cap. Good thing. The media hoopla accompanying Ranger's arrest had moved from Haywood to reestablish itself in front of the Mercer County Courthouse. Like sharks in a feeding frenzy, print and media reporters alike zeroed in on anyone wearing black. I watched while they attacked a goth teen with spiked hair and a nose ring as well as an Italian grandmother sporting a mantilla. Chances were neither of them had much to add to the story but, you never know.

Ranger would be appalled by the publicity. It wasn't that RangeMan Security was unknown around town, but we tried to be low key even given our signature uniforms and vehicles. Ranger himself kept an extremely low public profile usually meeting with only the most important of our clients. During the past eighteen months he'd been 'in the wind' so frequently that until recently the CEO of our newest account had doubted his existence. Guess no one would be doing that anymore. Terrific. Yeah, Ranger would be appalled.

_Did he know, Tank?_

Or, would he?

_Did he know?_ Steph's question weighed on my mind.

I considered his reaction to the change in the deal and, given the circumstances, his relatively civilized conversation with the DA. Was the voice in the crowd not really a surprise? Had he anticipated the uniforms' response to his movement? Is that why he'd asked Steph not to come down? Ordered the men to stay away? Because he knew he was going to get the shit beat out of him.

And, if he knew, why in God's name would he set himself up like that?

Bobby said he must have had his reasons.

They better be damn good ones I thought if that was true.

"You're wasting my time you know. And yours." Vinnie whined in my ear. "Word inside is the DA's going for life without parole. There's no way Ranger's making bail. Tell you the truth, not sure I'd want to write that bond anyway cause we both know he's too damn good at disappearing."

Ranger behind bars for life. A cold hard knot tightened in the pit of my stomach just thinking about it. It would kill him. It would kill Steph.

"You listen to me you duck fucking little pervert," I hissed, clamping my hand on Vinnie's shoulder to keep him from escaping. "I don't care what you heard or who you heard it from, unless "bail denied" comes out of the judge's mouth you're sticking with me." I dug my fingers into his shoulder until he yelped, "And, furthermore, after everything Ranger's done for you, if bail is offered, you'll be writing that bond or I'll be taking it out of your worthless deviant hide. We clear?"

Vinnie tried to shake me off. I held on. "Owww!!" he said.

"Clear?" I repeated.

"Yeah, yeah, clear."

"Good."

"Let go!"

"No. Let's get in there." I continued up the stairs dragging him along with me.

"Just so you know," he told me as he struggled to keep my pace. "I never really fucked a duck."

"Yeah, right."

The buzz of excited voices and many bodies filled the outer hallway inside the courthouse. I elbowed my way through the crowd with an unhappy Vinnie in tow.

Once or twice someone called my name, but I wasn't looking for conversation. I headed for the courtroom Vinnie had already established as the one being used for Ranger's bond hearing and arraignment. There were so many people I was afraid we wouldn't get in, but the Sheriff's Deputy guarding the door was a colleague.

'Pug' Galindo got his nickname for a number of reasons. His eyes were brown, protuberant and sad. His nose had been broken a few too many times. It spread all over his face. RangeMan frequently worked with the Sheriff's department. The men there all knew Ranger and respected him.

"Sorry 'bout what happened to your boss," Pug said. "Shit, that just weren't right. Bad enough they arrested him for killin' Abruzzi. That piece a'shit had it comin'. But to do what they did. No sir, that just weren't right."

"Thanks, man," I said. "You look after him. Okay?"

"You bet I will," Pug returned. "We all will. Sheriff's officers don't forget a man like that," he continued, his disdain for the actions of the Trenton PD evident in his voice as he allowed us entrance.

Cameras in New Jersey courtrooms exist at the discretion of the presiding judge. This guy, I decided, wanted to be a reality star. Lips was set up and no fewer than five other news outlets were readying their gear.

James Cunningham was in place too. Surrounded by several lesser lights from his office, he was already working the crowd. The sonofabitch.

A lone man stood at the defendant's table. David Markham did legal work for RangeMan and was Ranger's personal attorney. A genius with contracts, to my knowledge he didn't know jack-shit about criminal law. What the fuck. I sure wouldn't want him to represent me in a case like this.

Normally Markham was a calm man whose youthful good looks belied that he was closer to sixty than forty-five. He didn't look particularly calm today as he scanned the surrounding madhouse with nervous distaste. He panned the room's occupants twice before he saw me. I acknowledged him with a slight nod of my head. Understanding my desire for anonymity, he walked over to me with an attempt at nonchalance.

I gripped his hand hard when he offered it. "Is he all right?" I asked without preliminaries.

"He was well enough forty minutes ago to call and tell me that he'd been arrested," Markham responded. "I just got here. He was in transport. I haven't seen him."

"You haven't seen him!" I battled to keep my voice soft, my anger and disbelief in check. "You met with him this week -- the same day he told me he was turning himself in. You didn't try to talk him out of it? At least recommend a criminal attorney."

The lawyer's face creased in a frown, confusion reigning. "Turning himself in?"

I let out a deep breath. "You tellin' me he didn't mention that little detail?"

It was his turn to be angry. "Do you really think that if I'd known I would have allowed him to put himself in this position?" Christ, this is such a monumental error I'd have to recommend myself for disbarment. I'm telling you, the subject never came up."

"I'm sorry," I said my apprehension growing. "I thought he must have......"

A door opened directly across from us. Two officers of the court escorted their prisoner into the room. He saw us but, Ranger's face showed nothing.

They'd relieved him of his jacket, belt and tie. His shirt hung part way open, several buttons missing. His long dark hair hung loose to his shoulders, the cord he used to tie it back also confiscated. Instead of being cuffed behind him, his wrists were now shackled to a length of chain that wound around his waist. They'd shackled his ankles too. Someone had slapped two Steri-Strips on the cut over his eye, but there was still blood on his face and spotted on his shirt. He held his right arm tight to his body.

"My God!" Horror and concern clouded Markham's face. "What the fuck happened?"

I'd never before heard him use an expletive. "Take it you missed the news this morning," I said.

The lawyer's eyes briefly met mine and then focused back on Ranger. "I had a late night; I was dressing when he phoned."

"They called it resisting arrest. We have it on tape."

"Well, that's something anyway," he replied as he left me to join his client.

Before he could get to the table, the Bailiff stood and cried, "All rise. The Superior Court of Mercer County is now in session, the Honorable Michael J. Alvarez presiding." Markham had no chance to speak with Ranger.

Michael Alvarez was everything I expected. He made his entrance without a hair out of place and was careful to turn his good side to the cameras. He took his place on the bench looking extremely judicial. He rapped his gavel once and we all were seated. Immediately he questioned the District Attorney.

"Mr. Cunningham, I don't see you in my courtroom very often. To what do we owe the honor of your presence today?"

"Your Honor, the importance of this case demanded my personal attention."

"I see. Bailiff?"

The Bailiff announced the case in a loud clear voice "Superior Court Docket No. 64239 - The People vs. Ricardo Carlos Manoso." He handed the paperwork over to the judge.

Alvarez perused the file and again addressed the DA. "Mr. Cunningham, I remember this incident. The death in question was declared a suicide. Why are charges being brought at this time?"

"We have been presented with new evidence to support these charges, Your Honor."

"All right, Mr. Cunningham, we will set a date for a preliminary hearing. Will the defendant please rise."

There was a buzz in the courtroom as Ranger got to his feet as quickly as his restraints and physical injuries allowed. He stood straight and raised his head. The buzz continued.

"Order in the Court," the judge commanded the unruly crowd.

"Ricardo Carlos Manoso, to the charge of murder in the first degree in the death of Edward Abruzzi how do you plead?"

"Not Guilty." No hesitation.

"So noted. As to bail."

James Cunningham jumped to his feet. "If it please the court, Your Honor, the People request that bail for this defendant be denied."

"Your Honor," Markham interjected, "the defendant is a respected business owner in this city with close personal and family connections. We ask that you release him on his own recognizance or at least set reasonable bail."

"Mr. Cunningham?"

The DA had a nasty smirk on his face, one I didn't like at all. He held a single piece of paper in his hand.

"Your Honor, Defense Counsel apparently does not know his client very well. In addition to years spent as a mercenary, Mr. Manoso is known to be a long time Special Forces operative dedicated to covert and black ops assignments. He is highly trained in deadly force and has easy access to weaponry, cash and numerous false identities which are noted on this list of aliases which I will submit to the court in support of our request. His release would not only be a danger to the community but also a travesty of justice since the defendant would have ample means and opportunity to flee the country and, therefore, the eventual findings of this court."

Cunningham came forward and the Bailiff accepted the pro-offered list, passing it on to the judge.

"May I also say," Cunningham continued, "that in the course of this investigation, it has come to the People's attention that Mr. Manoso is connected with the recent spread of violence involving gangs and drug trafficking in our fair city."

Alvarez's eyes narrowed at Cunningham's final statement.

If my own training hadn't kicked in, I would have lost it. In less than a minute Cunningham had made Ranger's lifelong work as a classified agent a matter of public record in addition to painting a huge bullseye on his chest.

David Markham was half out of his seat ready to protest when I heard Ranger say to him, "David. No."

Those words were lost in the din that broke out as the judge proclaimed, "Bail denied," with a sharp rap of his gavel.

Beside me Vinnie said, "I'm outta here."

I didn't try to stop him.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

Not my characters (except for the ones you don't recognize), they belong to Janet Evanovich, but as long as Ranger can come out and play I can live with that.

This chapter is entirely Ranger's fault. It seems Batman has been holding out on me. The usual warnings apply.

**The Right To Remain Silent**

**by**

**SueB**

Chapter 6

_Six Weeks Prior_

"Explain."

I rotated the three grainy black and white photographs and slid them across the table, back to the man opposite me. He was uncomfortable. As early as he had been for our meeting, I had gotten here first. My back was to the wall, not his. He didn't like it.

"They're dead."

"I can see that."

Each photo displayed a man's body. One was naked. He lay on his stomach arms spread, head turned to the side, several punctures visible in a line curved from shoulder to waist. The second man lay on his back, eyes and mouth open in surprise. A number of large dark patches on his clothing presumably defined the location of his fatal wounds. The third man lay curled into the fetal position, his head bashed to a bloody pulp, facial features close to unrecognizable.

"Know any of them?"

Trick question. The world of contract government operatives I belonged to was small and elite. We all did our best work alone and theoretically we were unknown to each other unless it was necessary to our mission. I'd decided from the start that was a bullshit rule beneficial only to the brass. So, contrary to protocol, I made it my business to be familiar with every man and woman in the game -- at least by sight and reputation.

Silent and unblinking I held eye contact with my inquisitor until he shook his head and looked away.

"Fuck!" he said, surrendering, "Never mind. I know you know them."

Having won the skirmish, I conceded some ground. Without looking down I tapped the photo of the naked man.

"William Givens, 25. Been on board about a year."

What I didn't say was that although our paths weren't supposed to cross, I'd encountered William Givens on his very first assignment. I'd already nicknamed him 'Billy the Kid' when he tried to take me out, thinking I was working for the Taliban. That day I taught him that although the higher ups liked to keep us separate, knowing who was on your side on any given day was a good thing. With my forearm on his throat and my knife at his gut the conversation had gone something like, "What the hell do you think you're doing you snot-nosed, motherfucking little ass wipe?" Quick study -- he got my point. If I hadn't scoped him out beforehand, known who he was, he'd have been dead by my hand then. I didn't want to share how much it pained me that he was dead now.

I wasn't the only one it troubled.

The man picked up the photo. I wasn't sure of his age, but he'd been in this business a long time. His eyes had always looked old.

He spoke softly, staring at the picture. "Billy had more potential than anyone I've ever handled," he paused, "except for you." He raised his eyes to mine. In a matter of moments they'd gone from old to ancient. "Damn it, Ranger, these are all my men. Someone is killing my men."

"What happened?"

"What happened doesn't make sense. They weren't on assignments. They weren't even out of the country." He exhaled in exasperation. "They were all in jail."

"Jail?"

"Local lockups. Awaiting trials. No bail. Random towns around the good old USA."

"Charges?"

"Billy here was a little too fond of the mayor's daughter. Daddy filed a stalker charge. Thought he'd keep the boy on ice until he could boot him out of town."

He pointed to the second picture. The man who'd been surprised to die.

"Asif liked his cars fast and foreign. They pulled him over for doing 150. Town made it's budget on tourists' tickets. Country boys, they did't like Asif's looks and were pretty sure he'd skip so they locked him up. They were probably right."

"Marcus Solokov..."

"Thought that was Marcus. Hard to tell."

"Yeah. Marcus hadn't worked for a couple of years. He was homeless, paranoid. You know how this job can get to you. Tried to rob a liquor store. Turned out the gun he mentioned to the clerk was his finger masquerading in his jacket pocket. Locking him up was a kindness. Gave him some place to sleep out of the cold."

"Anything else?"

"A couple things. When they were charged, their names all made the papers. There were never any leads, but in every case not long after the murders a fellow inmate who'd previously been denied bail was suddenly freed -- bail orders revised. Those men have all disappeared.

"Someone touched them. Promised bail if they did the deed, then once they were out tied up loose ends."

"That's the way I see it." He stabbed a finger at each of the photos for emphasis. These were good men. Men who knew how to handle themselves. What would it take to get to them. Even Marcus. Especially Marcus. His paranoia would have made him particularly sensitive to attack. True, Billy was young, but you taught him well, Ranger. After you, no one ever got the drop on him again."

"You found out about that, huh?"

"I find out about a lot of things," he answered.

He sat back, rolled his shoulders to ease the strain. Looked at me. There wasn't going to be an order, but the request was written all over his face.

I spent several minutes considering. I was easy with the silence. I could see that he was not.

Finally, I said, "So you need my ass in jail and my name in the news. Does that about cover it?"

He nodded, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

"You think you can manage that?"

"Getting thrown in jail? Shouldn't be a problem. I'll need a man inside."

"We'll work out the details." He started to get up.

"I'm not finished."

My tone of voice made him sit back down.

"This isn't a gift. I have a condition."

"Ah. A condition."

"When it's done, I'm out. Finished. Free and clear."

"Son, if I'm not mistaken, your contract runs for another three years. I doubt that I can.......

I interrupted. "Point's not negotiable. Besides, with the splash I expect to make, if I'm not dead you won't want me back."

"This is about her isn't it?"

"Her?"

"Don't play dumb, Ranger. It's unbecoming. You think I don't know everything about her?"

"This is about me. Leave her out of it."

"Funny. I never figured dying of old age held much appeal for you."

"Man can change his mind."

Joe Morelli wasn't happy to hear from me. He was even less inclined to a meeting, but he showed up at the appointed place right on time.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

Not my characters, they belong to Janet Evanovich (well, most of them do), but as long as Ranger can come out and play I can live with that.

**The Right To Remain Silent**

**by**

**SueB**

Chapter 7

"Tank! No te vayas! Halt!"

I stopped dead halfway into the stairwell and turned to see Hector and Hal coming my way - both of them on a mission from the look of it. Hector had been working hard on his English, but he didn't always get the nuances right. I doubted he meant to make me feel like a fleeing felon.

"Mi amigo. What is it?" I asked. "Hal, everything okay?"

Hal let Hector take the lead.

"Tank, you go to Boss?"

"I'm going to see Ranger, yeah. On my way there now. Why?"

"You want, maybe, look at this!"

He thrust a photograph into my hands. It was obvious the still had been isolated from our RangeMan video tapes and it clearly showed a dark-haired man somewhere between thirty and forty years old. He had one hand cupped around his open mouth. It looked like he was yelling.

"Okay, you've got my attention. Is this the SOB I think it is?"

Hector understood SOB just fine. "Si, this the man who yelled."

"Run facial recognition. Find out who this fucker is."

My Spanish is passable, but the rapid string of words out of Hector's mouth outstripped my ability to understand.

"Hal? Help me out here."

"What he's telling you, Tank, is we already did that."

"And?"

"His name is Tony Fazio. Out of New York. Queens. Turns up in the system. Petty stuff."

"Yeah. And what aren't you telling me?"

Hal's broad brow wrinkled up like a prune.

"Well it's just that...we think...haven't confirmed it yet...it's that..." the big man continued to frown as he hemmed and hawed.

"Damn it, man, spit it out."

"He's a couple times removed, on his mother's side..."

"Hal! Who the hell is he?"

"Look's like...look's like he's Joe Morelli's cousin."

Fuck! Why didn't that surprise me.

"Did you think you were going without me?"

It just wasn't my day. Steph was already in the garage leaning against my SUV. Arms crossed, eyes blazing, more than a little angry.

"Wasn't that," I mumbled.

"Yeah, what was it then?"

I hedged, "Thought you might be sleeping."

"Bullshit!"

It was bullshit. Those big blue eyes might be shooting fire, but I could see they were weary and the purple splotches shadowing them testified to her not having slept at all. I hadn't slept either.

Truth was I **had** planned to go without her. I wanted to grill Ranger about his arrest. Test the theory that he'd been aware of how it would go down. I knew it'd be easier if he wasn't distracted by her presence. Since my conversation with Hector and Hal, I was even more inclined to leave her at Haywood. I sure as hell wasn't ready to tell her about Joe Morelli's distant cousin or to consider the implications of his involvement. From the looks of things though, she was coming whether I liked it or not.

But her bravado was wearing thin. I saw her take a shaky breath, her eyes fill with tears and I took advantage.

"I thought," I said softly, "it might be easier on both of you."

It was the wrong thing to say if I wanted to dissuade her. She swallowed before she spoke fighting to hold back tears, shoring up her resolve. "You don't understand," she said, "It's important. I have to see him."

"If it makes you feel better, they kept him in the infirmary last night. He's got a cracked rib, some stitches in that hard head of his but no concussion. David Markham called to let me know."

"But they won't keep him there for long will they?"

"No," I admitted. "Likely today he'll be put into the general population."

"Which is exactly where he wants to be isn't it?"

I didn't know how to answer her. "It's starting to look that way."

She closed her eyes and the tears trickled down her cheeks.

"Tank."

I reached out, pulled her into my arms and held her.

"Tank, I'm so afraid."

Sweat. The primary smell in the jail's common room. Body odor overwhelmed the area that was too hot and too small for the number of men confined there. That stink was followed closely by urine, vomit, disinfectant and fear - not always in that order. Everything in the space where the prisoners spent the bulk of their time was painted a dirty grey-green. Everything. Floors, walls, tables, benches. Some of the faces in the room had also taken on a grey-green color. There was no natural light to alleviate the pall.

After being held overnight in the jail's infirmary, I'd been released into the general population. For an hour I'd been sitting on a bench - my back to the wall - getting my bearings, watching the inmates, watching the inmates watch me.

There were two kinds of men behind these bars. The ones who strutted with an arrogant swagger and the ones who tried to fade into the woodwork. That was hard to do when you were wearing a florescent orange jumpsuit.

"Manoso!"

Showtime.

I didn't move. Stared straight ahead.

"Asshole! I'm talkin' to you."

I lifted my eyes to the two burly corrections officers standing over me. Still didn't move.

The first man put his shoe on my knee. Gave it a shove. Got in my face.

"Go ahead, Manoso, be a tough guy. See where it gets you. Stand up."

As I slowly rose to my feet, he spun me around and pushed me up against the wall. They'd taped up my ribs but the fix hadn't been designed to absorb rough treatment. Pain arced though my chest but I refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing it.

"Spread 'em," he sneered, patting me down with hard hands.

"Afraid I might have pilfered some deadly tongue depressors?" I asked.

"Shut up," he growled with another shove.

He had no idea how lethal I could be with a tongue depressor.

The second man carried an armful of restraints.

Shit.

My Special Forces training had been long on how to handle captivity. I didn't like to count the number of times I'd had to call on that training. No one suspected, but I'd never mastered being restrained. When bound I fought a constant battle against a claustrophobic feeling of helplessness.

"What's goin' on?" I asked the second man.

"You got visitors," he answered.

"Those necessary?" I asked indicating the shackles in his hands.

"Haven't heard?" the first CO said. "You're a dangerous man. An' you ain't pullin' nothin' on my watch."

I concentrated on my breathing as they fixed the chains on my ankles and wrists.

When they'd finished, they released the lock and escorted me out the door.

The facility had provisions for contact visits, but I wasn't afforded that privilege. The CO's opened another door into a small room with a glass panel.

Steph was on the other side.

She looked up when she heard our arrival. Straightened her shoulders. Strong. Brave. Soft curls, escapees from her pony tail, framed her face.

Even through the dirty glass I could see her concern as she ran her eyes over my body. They lingered at the stitches above my eye and clouded with sadness when she saw the shackles.

God, she was beautiful. My heart pounded in my chest and I realized I hadn't been prepared to see her. A little over twenty-four hours ago I'd been holding her in my arms. Now it was possible I'd never hold her again.

"Sit," one of the CO's said.

I'd forgotten they were there.

"You got ten minutes," said the other.

I waited until they left the room.

"Babe."

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

Not my characters (except for the ones you don't recognize, they belong to me), they belong to Janet Evanovich, but as long as Ranger can come out and play I can live with that.

Please forgive Tank's language. He just doesn't know what to make of all this.

**The Right To Remain Silent**

**by**

**SueB**

Chapter 8

Steph did a frank appraisal of my person then seemed uncertain of what to do next. She bowed her head, her hands grasped in her lap. Had she held my gaze, I would have known exactly what was going on. Her face displayed everything, held nothing back. I loved that about her maybe because I'd spent years perfecting just the opposite.

She sat very still. Based solely on body language, she wasn't all that happy to see me. I waited.

Then broke the silence, "Babe, you..."

"Shouldn't have come?" she finished softly still refusing to look at me, "Yeah, I know. That was Tank's opinion too. Said it might be easier on both of us if I didn't."

"Babe, look at me."

She did. Her eyes were too big, too bright, way too weary. For the first time I was sorry I could tell what she was thinking. There was much I didn't want to see. Distress, anger, hurt. Shit, what had I expected? I knew she cared for me; the last twenty-four hours had been hard.

She confirmed it. "Truthfully," she said, "there's nothing easy about this either way."

I nodded my agreement.

"I had to see how you were doing for myself."

"I'm okay, Babe," I told her. "Rib's a little sore."

Her brow knit. "Your head?"

"Headache's goin' away. Stitches itch like hell."

"How many are there?"

"Don't know. Didn't count."

"They're going to leave a scar," she said.

Didn't matter to me. I shrugged. "Prison docs don't get the job for bein' first in their med school class."

I reached up to rub my fingers across the stitches' stubbly ends. The movement clanked the length of chain between the cuffs on my wrists against the narrow counter in front of me startling Steph and focusing her attention on the restraints.

"God, Ranger," she cried, "are you shackled all the time?"

I couldn't let her see how much that possibility bothered me. I made light of it.

"No, Babe," I raised an eyebrow, "but they tell me I'm a dangerous man."

It was meant to be funny, but she didn't laugh.

"Well," she said deadly serious, "you are. They got that part right. You are a dangerous man."

Was that how she saw me?

She looked away again and continued so softly I could hardly hear.

"You knew. Didn't you?"

Not a question I wanted to answer. As I pondered a response, she fired off another one, her voice louder this time.

"What's really happening, Ranger?"

When I still hesitated, she went with one more.

Can you tell me everything will be all right?"

That was one I thought I could handle.

I'd opened my mouth to give her a canned speech of reassurance when she suddenly locked her eyes on mine and said sharply, "Don't, Ranger, just don't."

There was a warning in her voice. It said, _don't lie to me_. Fuck. It said, _don't lie to me...again_.

I heeded the warning. Didn't lie; said nothing.

Her eyes narrowed at my silence. If there had been hurt and anger in them before, it was doubled now.

"That's what I thought," she said.

She took a deep breath. "I love you, Ranger. More than you know. My heart aches to see you here. Twice as much if it's because of something you did for me, but I don't know..."

She stopped. Didn't complete the thought. Took a different tack.

"I do know there are things you can't tell me. I just wish..."

"What, Babe," I urged, "what do you wish?"

I would grant it. Whatever it was.

"I wish," she said, "you had trusted me with at least some version of the truth."

In my line of work you don't second guess yourself. Decisions come hard and fast. If you opt to kill and don't, more than likely you're the one to die. If you kill and agonize about it later, you go crazy. I'd lived by that rule for years in making both my professional and personal decisions. Never doubting. Never looking back. I'd made the decision to use Abruzzi's death to tempt a publicity hungry DA into serving my purpose and I'd kept Steph and my men in the dark. Those facts weren't going to change.

"Dinner was on the table, Ranger, it got cold."

Her words shook me. "Babe."

"Don't die," she said getting up. Unable to touch me, she gently drew her fingers across the glass that separated us. Her face filled with sorrow. "Please don't die."

I broke my cardinal rule as she turned to go. I questioned what I'd done.

Realized too, I hadn't told her that I loved her.

The door to the outside hall opened before she got to it. Tank barreled through it like the Sherman he was. He stopped, leaned down to say some quiet words in Steph's ear, gave her a quick hug. She smiled for him. She hadn't smiled for me. Any wonder?

They were friends, Comfortable with each other. I tamped down the jealousy that flared in my chest like a flash bomb.

Tank's menacing bulk filled most of the area in the small visitor's room. His attitude took up the remaining space. The chair Steph had vacated barely accommodated his size. He looked a little pissed.

"You plan on tellin' me what the fuck is goin' on any time soon?" he asked without preamble.

He was more than a little pissed.

"Cause I'm gettin' the feelin' this whole deal has somthin' to it other than some Abruzzi evidence we both know is either bogus or doesn't exist."

He stopped to take a breath.

"This isn't about Abruzzi," I told him.

"Yeah?" he said. "Does the DA know that? 'Cause he's awful anxious to nail you to the wall for his murder as well as every random gang hit in the last six weeks or so."

His anger escalated with each question. I stayed calm as I responded. "Certain things had to happen."

"That right? Certain things? You say? Like plastering your face all over the news and makin' yourself a goddamn target? Like making damn sure you didn't make bail? Like lying to Steph, not the smartest thing you've ever done by the way, and keepin' me out of the loop? Those certain fuckin' things?"

"Like I said..."

"Right," he cut me off, "I got that. Had to happen."

He rubbed one huge hand across the expanse of his baldness in frustration. He closed his eyes, shook his head, the bluster fading.

"Jesus, Rangeman, you got a death wish or what? Didn't take too much to figure out you orchestrated that whole dog and pony show, but was gettin' beat to shit part of your grand master plan?"

"No," I said, "The press, the public arrest, outing the government work, yeah, that part was planned." I stopped.

"But not gettin' your head smashed like a pumpkin."

"Not the rib either," I added, "God, I hate it when they get the ribs."

"So what happened?" he asked.

For the first time in days, I was honest with him. I held his gaze as I confessed, "I lost it. I heard that motherfucker and I wanted to tear him apart."

"Then maybe I should tell you that motherfucker is Joe Morelli's cousin."

The tightening in my jaw told Tank everything he needed. He knows me too well.

"Morelli have some part of this?" he asked quietly?

I nodded infinitesimally not wanting to discuss the cop in this venue.

My admission set him off again.

"Orange ain't your color, Rangeman," he growled eying my prison attire, "but if that's who you got watching your back you better get used to it 'cause you might be wearin' it for quite some time. That is if you live that long."

He got up to leave. Pissed as hell.

"Tank!"

"What?"

"If I'd told you beforehand, what would you have done?"

He answered without hesitation. "Locked you in a soundproof cell in Haywood's basement 'til you started makin' sense."

"See," I said with a sad smile, "I couldn't let that happen."

"Ah, hell, Rangeman. Why?"

The door behind me rattled open. I didn't have a chance to answer.

"Time's up," CO #1 announced. "Move your ass."

Lucky for me I had a contingency plan.

"Tank! Seventh floor. Check the safe."

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

Not my characters (except for the ones you don't recognize, they belong to me), they belong to Janet Evanovich, but as long as Ranger can come out and play I can live with that.

I know this chapter has been slow in coming and I apologize. My daughter is visiting and that darn muse of mine took off with her on a whirlwind tour of Chicago. She's back now and I've grounded her for the balance of the summer (my muse-not my daughter). Anyway, thanks for waiting.

**The Right To Remain Silent**

**by**

**SueB**

Chapter **9**

"He doesn't look too bad...considerin'," I said as I hauled myself behind the wheel of the SUV.

Steph was already buckled into the passenger side, set to go. She turned her head away swiping her sleeve across her face.

Probably she didn't want me to see her cry. I made a big deal about adjusting my seat belt complaining, "Damn it. Every time I get out of this vehicle I swear somebody fucks with these straps." Stupid. We both knew I was just creating a distraction.

Steph was quiet while I started the engine and backed away from the curb. Stayed quiet as I pulled out of the parking lot. Was still quiet five or six blocks along. Very un-Steph-like. Normally conversation bubbled right out of her and more often than not the guys and I wanted her to shut up. Now I couldn't stand the silence. It was starting to get to me. I gave her a block or two more and then chanced a glance in her direction. She was staring daggers at me. This whole thing with Ranger must have me off my game. I should have known.

"What did he tell you?" she demanded.

I put my eyes back on the road. What did he tell me? Not a whole hell of a lot. But some...with the definite possibility of more locked away in his seventh floor safe. But how much of what he told me should I share with Steph? He'd had no opportunity to offer direction on that one.

Until I knew what was in it, I decided not to mention the safe. And the time still didn't feel right to bring up Morelli's cousin. I went with the one thing I thought might ease her mind.

"It's not about Abruzzi."

More silence.

She knew exactly what I was doing.

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?

I threw her a pleading look. "Come on, Steph, you wanted to know what he said. That's what he said."

"That's it? That's all he told you?" Disbelieving.

"Yeah, that's it. That and 'certain things had to happen'. I'm assumin' the big one bein' that he had to be in jail for some reason." I wasn't lying to her. Not really. It was all I knew for certain.

"Why? Nothing about why?"

"No," I said, "He didn't tell me why."

That statement was true too - as far as it went. I couldn't look at her when I said it though. She'd know I was holding something back.

"Tank," she pressed, her voice heavy with concern, "how can we help him if we don't know why he's supposed to be in there?"

I didn't have a ready answer. Somehow I had to get up to seven without her knowing. It took me another couple of blocks to come up with a plan.

"Uhh! Agh!" I reached down and held my hand on my stomach, twisted my face into a grimace.

"Are you all right?"

I had her. Worked up a burp.

"Tank?"

"Stomach's goin' south," I groaned. "Musta been the chorizo burrito for breakfast."

"Burrito? Chorizo? Ella didn't cook that."

"Look," I said, burping again for good measure, "Ranger might be able to sustain on sticks and twigs, but it takes more than a carrot or two for me. Okay?"

"But for breakfast?"

Enough about my menu choices. I just needed to keep her off of seven long enough to get in the safe.

"Listen, Bobby wanted me to brief him on Ranger's physical condition when we got back. Think you could field that while I, uh, take care of business? Then get the team together in the conference room. We'll fill them in on our visit and see what intel they've put together from the crowd yesterday morning. Would you do that?"

"Of course," she said. "No problem."

She frowned, reached over and held the back of her hand to my forehead.

"You sure you're okay? You feel a little warm. I've got Pepto-Bismol."

Leave it to Steph. Naturally she'd want to take care of me. "Yeah," I muttered. "I'll be fine."

Problem was, I'd fed her so much crap in the past mile now I really did feel like shit.

#####

"She's a damn fine looker, Manoso, I'll give you that."

I was already moving, but CO #1 gave me a push in the direction of the common area anyway. His mouth kept moving too.

"Just enough stuff in all the right places. Know what I mean? Bet she's a wildcat in bed."

I clenched my fists to keep from attempting to wrap my hands around the man's beefy neck in spite of the cuffs on my wrists. I tried and failed to check my angry retort.

"Shut...the...fuck...up," I growled.

From behind me, he leaned in closed enough that I could feel his hot breath on my neck. Could tell he'd had onions for lunch. "I bet 'Pierre' takes real good care of her while you're away," he said with a snicker that was dirty and suggestive.

Pierre. I slowed my steps. Not many people outside his immediate circle knew Tank's real name. That's why I had chosen it as the code word for my man inside. My man inside - CO #1. This guy was on my side. Or supposed to be.

"That's right," he said softly giving me another poke where he knew it would jar my cracked rib. "He sent me to watch your back. What do you think of that?"

"I think," I replied evenly while suppressing a wince, "you enjoy your cover a little too much."

We'd reached the entrance to the common area. His laughter drew everyone's attention to the barred divider. He motioned to the CO on guard to remove my restraints and then unlocked the barrier and rolled it aside. He shoved me inside. There were four men in the space who hadn't been there when I'd left. Four pairs of eyes black with hatred. Four pairs of eyes zeroed in on me.

#####

Steph and I took the elevator from the garage. I got off on four. The doors had barely closed when I hit my speed dial for Bobby.

He answered and I ordered, "Steph's on her way up. Keep her with you. I need ten minutes." I disconnected, giving him no opportunity for questions and ran the stairs to Ranger's apartment.

It didn't take long to crack the safe and retrieve a large brown folder addressed to me. I had to move a small square box in order to pull it out. The box fit in the palm of my hand. Not my business. I opened it anyway.

A ring set with a perfect square cut diamond winked up at me, its facets sparkling even in the limited light.

"Shit," I swore softly snapping the box shut. Definitely not my business.

I retreated to my apartment on four and spilled the contents of the folder onto my desk. There were three envelopes. Like the folder, the first envelope bore my name. The second said 'James Cunningham'. I scowled when I read the third - 'Ricardo Carlos Manoso - Last Will and Testament'. A date in the corner coincided with the day Ranger had met with David Markham in the week prior to his arrest. He must have revised his will. Fuck.

I ripped my envelope open. It contained several photographs and five pages densely covered in Ranger's careful scrip. He spelled out everything he hadn't told me before - a meeting with his long-time government handler, three dead operatives and the circumstances of their murders, his handler's unofficial request for aid, his own suspicions and finally, his reasons for agreeing to help. Reasons that might explain the ring. All he had to do was live through the mission. I wondered if that was possible.

He went on to describe how he'd used Morelli to goad the DA into his arrest and assured me the envelope for Cunningham held his 'Get Out of Jail Free' card. That is, if getting out of jail didn't entail a body bag. The unexpected presence of Morelli's low-life cousin in the mix couldn't be good. Looked to me like the cop might have his own agenda.

My cell rang. Bobby.

"You comin'? Everybody's here."

"On my way."

#####

Lester sat at the conference table holding a raft of papers. Bobby, Cal and Junior clustered behind him peering over his shoulder.

"Where's Steph?" I asked. She was conspicuously absent. "And Hal and Hector?"

Lester looked up from the material he'd been studying, "Steph left. Got a call from her mother. Something about Mrs. Mazur needin' a ride to Stiva's. Hal and Hector went out on an equipment breakdown. Weren't sure when they'd be back so Hal asked me to give his report." He continued without a break. "Have you seen this?"

He held out the photo Hector and Hal had shown me earlier. Shit!

"Do you know who this is?" he went on.

"Yeah," I said, "I know." I paused, afraid to ask, "Steph see that picture?"

"See it?" Junior chimed in, "She identified it. Les here pulled it out of the folder and right off she said, 'what's Joe's cousin doin' in the crowd. She didn't even have to read the report. Said she'd met him at some Morelli family wedding."

"An' was that before or after she got the phone call from her mother?"

"Before, I think," Junior said looking to the others for their recollection.

Cal and Lester both confirmed. "Before. Yeah, I'm sure. Before."

Only Bobby was quiet. He took a look at my face and said, "She isn't going to pick up her grandma is she?"

"I'll grow hair if she is."

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

Not my characters (except for the ones you don't recognize, they belong to me), they belong to Janet Evanovich, but as long as Ranger can come out and play I can live with that.

I know, I'm slow. But, better late than never - right?

**The Right To Remain Silent**

**by**

**SueB**

Chapter 10

"You afraid?"

The voice came from somewhere beside me, but I didn't check it out. It wasn't me who was going to blink in the pissing contest I had going with Shakir Wilson and his cohorts across the way. The men flexed a heavy muscle or two. I held their collective stare, crossed my arms and leaned casually against the wall behind me.

"Are you?"

Persistent. He sounded awfully young whoever he was. Too young to be locked up in here with the likes of me and the gangbangers on the other side of the room.

"Afraid?"

Kid wasn't going away. I answered him while still keeping my eyes pinned on Wilson, "Man's a fool if he isn't afraid."

"I'm always afraid."

"Can't let fear paralyze you. Use it to keep sharp."

Shakir scowled at me and twisted his fists together making sure I knew my neck was his target.

I gave him a slow smile. He didn't much like my response.

"Those guys want to kill you."

A pure statement of fact.

"Probably."

"How come?"

Persistent and nosy too.

"I'm the reason they're here."

"No shit!"

Shakir didn't have the patience I did. He threw me a sneer and a shrug that said 'this ain't over; another time' and swaggered off with his henchmen. Advantage, Manoso.

"All riiiiight! Waaaay to go! My man!"

Again beside me. Closer now. Louder. Make that persistent, nosy and annoying.

I made sure Wilson was on about other business before giving any consideration to the owner of the voice. He had to be at least eighteen to be in here but, God, he looked twelve. Small, skinny, pimply. Dirty blonde hair, shaggy, in need of a cut. Brown eyes behind greasy glasses that sat crooked because one shaft was bent. The requisite orange jumpsuit hung on his scrawny frame.

"High Five!" Palm up and ready.

Was he kidding?

"Look, kid," I said, "I don't know what you think is going on here, but what it's not is some kind of sporting event. You'd best remember that."

The hard look I fixed on him did nothing to diminish his childish enthusiasm.

"Ah, come on," he insisted. "You did it. You won. They backed down."

I'd had enough. So fast that he gasped, I wrapped one fist in the loose front of his jumpsuit to pull him close. He weighed next to nothing, his body flew into mine. He smelled of two-day sweat.

"Listen to me," I hissed, "nothing has changed. They didn't back down; they just postponed the confrontation to a time and place more to their liking, a place with even better odds and fewer witnesses. Got that?"

His body went limp against mine. All rag doll. I wasn't hurting him, but he let out a mewling wounded animal sound. Let it out loud enough attract the attention of the CO's. Wouldn't ya know. I had already released the kid and backed away with my hands raised and open by the time CO #1 had the bars slid away. The boy stumbled backwards, his chin on his chest.

"Leave him alone, Manoso!"

Coy, the kid peered over the top of his dirty glasses through lashes any woman would envy. "It's okay, Clyde," he said. "I think he kinda likes me."

He presented me with a sly smile that made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. But, I had gathered one piece of information. Clyde. CO #1 was Clyde. And he and the kid were on a first name basis.

"You expect me to help you, Manoso," Clyde said so only I could hear, "you keep your nose clean."

It was futile to respond. I didn't, but Clyde wasn't finished.

"Didn't think you'd go pickin' on the helpless," he added.

"You saw how it went down," I told him, "and, Clyde," I put myself on a first name basis too, "the kid's about as helpless as a cobra."

Clyde withdrew without comment. The kid skulked off humming a tuneless song. And I reclaimed my space against the wall watching my fellow inmates and trying to assess which one of them was planning my assassination in exchange for a false promise of freedom.

As I observed, an old man, stooped and grizzled, methodically pushed a broom around the room. Most of the men ignored him, didn't move, made him sweep around their tight-knit groups. A couple dropped unkind comments behind his back - mimicked his slow-paced progress.

I stepped out of his way when he approached me giving him easy access to my corner of this world. I nodded when he'd finished, moved back into my place. He nodded in return, grateful for my appreciation of his work. He continued his labors until he reached the corner of the room, then turned and walked back in my direction. A foot or so away he stopped, resting on the handle of his broom. He didn't look at me, but I could hear him clearly when he softly said, "You right about the boy."

He glanced my way quickly to see if I was listening. I was.

"Killed one brother, then went for his mother when she tried to stop him from goin' for the other one." The old man stopped. Sighed, shook his head. "Can you imagine that?" he said. "Tryin' to kill your mother?" I couldn't and clearly he couldn't either. Didn't seem to take exception to murdering a brother though.

"Got any other words for me?" I asked.

"Shakir Wilson is the devil hisself surrounded by demons."

"That I know," I replied. "Shakir and I are...acquainted."

He spoke, "Thought you might be," and then was quiet for a spell.

"I know who you are," he said, suddenly looking me directly in the eye.

"How would you know that, Old Man?" I asked.

He cackled, showing toothless gums. "Can't live on the streets as long as I have without hearin' 'bout Ranger Manoso."

I didn't confirm or deny my identity.

He went on, "But not talkin' 'bout your name. I mean, I know who you are." He tapped his fist against his sunken chest. "In here. Where it counts."

I raised a speculative eyebrow.

"You help them that needs helpin'," he insisted earnestly. "An' make sure them that deserve it get what's commin' to 'em."

"Sure," I said, "I'm a regular Robin Hood."

"Batman's more like it," he replied, "though jist now," he motioned to my jail attire, "you be outta uniform."

Batman. My heart shifted.

Babe.

She'd been angry when she left...worse, she'd been disappointed, hurt. The way I saw it, I'd been protecting her. She'd seen it differently. I'd learned. I had to filter things through her eyes in addition to my own. To use what I had learned I had to live. To live I had to pay attention, concentrate, be aware. Only when this mission was successfully completed, could I think about really living. And then, only if she let me.

For now, I carefully packed the future away.

"What do they call you, Old Man?" I asked.

"Cain," he said. "Them's that know me call me Cain."

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

Not my characters (except for the ones you don't recognize, they belong to me), they belong to Janet Evanovich, but as long as Ranger can come out and play I can live with that.

I know, I know, I'm slow! But, I'm consistently slow. :) Thanks for waiting.

**The Right To Remain Silent**

**by**

**SueB**

Chapter 11

"Let's get started."

Santos stood up at the same time I sank into the chair at the head of the conference table. Ranger's usual place.

"We aren't goin' after her?" he asked.

"No." I dumped the contents of the envelope I'd retrieved from Ranger's safe onto the table and began to separate its contents into several piles.

"We're not?" Bobby, Cal and Junior were standing too. Even without looking I knew Lester was checking out their opinion on the wisdom of my decision.

I repeated, "No."

"Why not?" It was Junior this time. Just belligerent enough to bait me.

I struggled to control my temper, in no mood for second guessing.

Santos started in again, "Ranger won't like it if..."

Temper won. I cut him off. Lifted my head. Raised my voice. "Ranger's not here! If you hadn't noticed."

"Hey," he protested, "just sayin'. I know Tony Fazio's no hardened criminal but if she confronts him, he could get ugly."

"Fazio's long gone," I said, "and we both know he didn't show up in yesterday's crowd because he happened to be in the neighbohood. Morelli sent him."

"You think she went to the cop?"

"She's lookin' for the source. Where else would she go?"

I caught Bobby's eye. As usual, he was processing all the information at his disposal before he spoke. I appreciate that about him. It's a valuable quality - not going off half-cocked. When he had something to say, it was always well-considered.

"What, exactly, does Morelli have to do with all of this?"

"More than makes me comfortable," I replied.

"You're sure that's where she went?" Cal's broad face wrinkled with concern.

I picked up my cell, called the Control Room and put the phone on speaker. "You have a bead on Bomber?" I asked when Manny answered.

"Yeah," he responded. "I was just going to call you. Funny thing. She said she was goin' to her folks, but she didn't. You'll never believe where she ended up."

"Morelli's."

There was silence on the other end of the line. Then, "How'd you know that?"

"I'm psychic, Manny, it's why Ranger pays me the big bucks."

"Really? Awesome!"

Bobby smiled. I shook my head. "Manny, just let me know when she leaves. Okay?"

"Sure, no problem, Tank." The new respect in his voice was undiminished by the fact that I obviously had no clue about Steph's next moves. Great. I could see explaining this one to Ranger.

Santos wasn't happy. "Who's to say the cop won't go off on her? Even if their breakup was mutual, Morelli's got no use for Ranger. He can't be happy about Bomber's moving in with the Boss."

"He won't hurt her," I insisted.

"You sure?"

"Tell me, Les, the cop touches one hair on Steph's head. Whadda you gonna do?"

Santos' eyes went hard and narrow. His voice pitched low, "He's dead before he takes another breath."

"He's a cop." I goaded, "You'll go away forever. They'll lose the key. They might consider reinstating the death penalty."

"Your point?"

"That is my point. Don't you get it? Morelli won't hurt her because he knows we'll come after him if he does. Even with Ranger behind bars - especially with Ranger behind bars. We'd cut him into so many little pieces God wouldn't be able to put him together again."

He remained unconvinced, "I still don't like it."

"I know," I responded, "neither do I. But after what I've learned today, one of us was going to have to question Morelli anyway. My guess is he'll spill more to Steph than he would to one of us."

"What did you find out today?" Bobby asked.

He nodded toward the papers, now in an orderly row in front of me, and took a seat at the table. Cal and Junior followed his lead. After a pause, Lester spun a chair around, straddled it and sat with his arms on the back.

"This better be good," he said, his eyes boring into mine.

None of them expected my revelation. "He's on a mission."

"What?" "Bullshit!" "Come on."

"Ranger's 'in the wind'."

Santos was up again, pissed, throwing the chair out of the way. "Right! Like hell! Ranger's in fucking jail! If you hadn't noticed!" he spit out, mocking my own words.

"Sit down, Lester and listen," I ordered. "It just happens that this wind is blowin' close to home.

#####

Joe Morelli leaned casually against the framework of his open front door. His hair was long, curling further than usual into the collar of his shirt. A shirt that was unbuttoned far enough to expose the eagle tattooed on his chest and only half tucked into his low riding jeans. He had a three-day growth of beard and his eyes were lazy. Lazy like a lion at rest. Still predatory.

"Cupcake," he said, his voice caressing the endearment I no longer found endearing.

"You almost got him killed!" I blurted out.

Damn, that wasn't what I had planned to say.

Did I have a plan? Not really. What I had was an overpowering need to find out what Ranger wouldn't tell me. Like, what the hell was going on? A need fueled by seeing Ranger beaten, chained and behind bars even though I was furious enough to want to strangle him myself. Killing him was my prerogative. Tank too had been less than helpful; he thought I'd been fooled when he ditched me on the 5th floor. Recognizing Tony Fazio's picture had at least given me a place to start.

Joe smiled, amused. Guess I'd been standing here deciding what else to say longer than I thought.

"Long time no see," he said. "The boys and I wondered how long it would be before you showed up once Manoso was in jail." He made a point of looking at his watch. "Little more than 24 hours. Course we're always glad to see you." He grabbed his crotch as punctuation.

I felt my cheeks turn red. "That's disgusting, Joe. When Ranger told me you'd refused to be the arresting officer yesterday, actually bucked the brass, I thought you'd taken the high road. I should have known you lost that map a long time ago."

The smile faded.

I had to swallow, take a deep breath before I could go on. "He could have died right there on the sidewalk. In front of his own building. On television, for God's sake!"

"He resisted arrest, Cupcake. The officers had no choice."

"That's bullshit and you know it."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure you do, Joe. I'm talking about Tony Fazio. Your cousin...Tony Fazio...the one from Queens. The one you took out behind the dumpster at his sister's wedding reception and broke his nose because he copped a feel when he danced with me. That Tony Fazio!" I whipped out the photo I'd surreptitiously copied from Hal and Hector's file and shoved it in his face. "Now do you remember?"

Joe's playful mood was fast disintegrating. "Where did you get this?" he demanded.

"I know you think they're nothing but muscle, but RangeMan employees are a pretty resourceful bunch, particularly when it comes to the Boss's well-being." I went on, "You planted Tony Fazio, put words in his mouth and hoped Ranger would react exactly like he did so the cops would have an excuse to take him down."

Joe snorted, "Guess I got lucky."

"How could you?"

"Listen, Cupcake, Manoso got exactly what he asked for. Said he wanted to make a splash. Wanted Trenton PD officers involved that RangeMan didn't usually deal with. Wanted me to steer clear. If I threw a little element of surprise into the mix with Tony, well, that just helped keep it real. Frankly, I wasn't sure the mighty Batman would fall for it. He must really love what your dishin'. Or maybe, he's just slippin'."

"What do you mean, what he asked for?" I didn't like hearing that Ranger had organized his own arrest. I didn't like hearing confirmation that he had known most of what was going to happen. I really didn't like hearing it all from Joe Morelli.

The smile was back, but it was nasty this time, not amused. "Isn't that funny. He didn't tell you did he?"

I was going to tough this out, find out as much as I could. "Didn't tell me what?"

He was loving this now. "Didn't tell you how he asked me to make sure James Cunningham saw the so-called evidence about Abruzzi, to see that our always campaigning DA understood how this could be an electrifying media event, to stay away from the action myself so his arrest didn't look like sour grapes. No, I can tell by your face the man you think supports you, better than I ever could, didn't trust you enough to tell you Jackshit!"

"He must have had his reasons," I managed to get out, hating that my voice sounded small and squeaky, that my eyes had filled with tears. I blinked them away. I had another question and I was determined to ask it without crying. "Did he tell you why?"

"Know what, Cupcake?" I cringed. I was never going to eat a cupcake again. "He didn't say and I didn't ask. Frankly, I could give a shit."

"Why did you agree to help him then? Refusing to arrest him wasn't good for your career. Look at you, you're on suspension."

He shrugged. "Like I've always told you. He's a thug. Small price to pay to see him behind bars where he belongs."

"You know, Joe," I said softly. "It doesn't matter whether Ranger is in jail or not. I love him. I won't be coming back to you." It was true; I did love Ranger. I just didn't know if I could trust him any more.

Joe wasn't finished with me. "What can I say, he made me an offer I couldn't refuse."

I didn't ask what that offer had been, but Joe told me anyway. "In exchange for my help, he promised when this was over, there was a better than even chance that he'd be dead. I liked the odds."

Oh God!

TBC


	12. Chapter 12

Not my characters (except for the ones you don't recognize, they belong to me), they belong to Janet Evanovich, but as long as Ranger can come out and play I can live with that.

Belated Warning: I realized after the fact that Chapter 11 probably should have had a Cupcake Warning. I apologize if anyone was blindsided. Joe wasn't very nice. It surprised me too.

**The Right To Remain Silent**

**by**

**SueB**

Chapter 12

"You all done playin' Lone Ranger?"

Steph's soft intake of breath told me I'd made a poor choice of words. Shit. When I looked up, the distress on her face had me ready to apologize, but before I could get the words out something different replaced the hurt. Something harder and with a sharper edge. Like a slice of determination carved from a block of anger.

"Are you?" she shot back.

Much better. That's my girl. No, that's Ranger's girl. Wrong again...Ranger's woman.

I was still in the conference room reviewing the information I'd found in the safe. To be honest, in the twenty minutes since Manny had alerted me that Steph was on her way back to Haywood, I hadn't reviewed much of anything - the words were a jumble as I shuffled papers. Full comprehension of Ranger's situation had hit me hard when I briefed the guys. He didn't call it a suicide mission, but it was hard to put another name on an anticipated assassination attempt taking place in a facility populated by plenty of men who'd be more than happy to do the deed.

"You missed the meeting," I said softly.

Steph squared her shoulders. Stuck out her chin. "Yeah? Guess I didn't get the memo."

God, she was brave. And I was such a coward.

Lester and Bobby, each in his own way, insisted Steph needed full disclose. Santos had pounded on the table, but it was Bobby's quiet _she deserves to know_ that tipped the scales. I didn't need to feign indigestion any more. Just the thought of telling her twisted my gut.

"Steph, sit down."

There was a stubborn glint in her eye.

"Please," I pleaded.

She relented, but pulled out the chair at the far end of the table instead of coming to sit beside me. Her bag dropped on the floor with a loud plop.

"So?"

She wasn't helping me to find my courage. My gaze slid away from her hard eyes. I rearranged the papers in front of me - again, tried to be businesslike.

"Ranger left us some intel."

"Us?" she interrupted. "You sure it's information he wants me to have?"

Fair question. Too bad I didn't have an answer. "I'm not sure," I replied honestly, "but there are things that Bobby and Lester think you should know."

"And you? Do you think I should know?"

"Yeah, I think you should know. I just didn't want to be the one that had to tell you," I admitted.

"Know what, Tank?" she demanded. "That Ranger really did set this whole deal up himself - planned his arrest, made sure there'd be no bail, got himself thrown in jail where there was..."

She stopped, the next words tough for her to say. "a better than even chance that he would die? Is that what you're going to tell me? 'Cause I already know all that. Joe made damn good and sure I understood."

Fuck. It was my fault she'd had to hear it all from the cop.

She went on, "Tell me something I don't know. Like why? Tell me why? Can you do that?"

I gathered up my pile of papers and moved to her end of the table. It was hard to tell if the look on her face was relief at finally getting some answers or fear of what those answers might be. She clasped her hands tightly in her lap.

I started in. "Six weeks ago Ranger met with his government handler."

That's as far as I got before she lit into me.

"So if you tell me this, Ranger has to kill me. Right?"

She made a strange sound. It was a mirthless laugh I realized.

"Don't worry," I assured her, "you won't be the only one. Do you want me to stop?"

She shook her head. "No."

"Didn't think so. His name is Harry Dolan."

"His name?" She butted in again. "He actually gave you his name?"

"Are you going to listen?"

"Yeah! Yeah, I'm going to listen."

"Dolan's the only handler Ranger's ever had. The two of them go way back, but Ranger's not his only operative. In the past six months three of Dolan's other men have been killed. Murdered. Not while on assignments..."

"but in situations similar to what Ranger has set up here," she finished for me.

I nodded gravely. "Exactly."

Ranger had included photos of the three dead men in the file. Graphic photos. I hated doing it but I had to show her. I pulled them out, laid them on the table and watched the color drain from her face. She froze - staring - her breath caught in her throat. I knew she was seeing Ranger lying still and cold in a pool of his own blood.

"Steph!" I grasped her shoulder and gave her a gentle shake. "Steph, look at me!"

She did, her eyes wide with fear.

"Steph, these men didn't know it was coming. It's a different story with Ranger. He knows. He's prepared. Given the circumstances, these men had no reason to suspect someone was planning to kill them. He does. Don't forget. It's a job and he's good at it."

She started breathing again, but she wasn't convinced.

"He's at a disadvantage, Tank. He's hurt. Joe saw to that."

I tried to reassure her. "He's worked hurt before. He's strong. And we're not going to leave him out in the cold."

"How do you know he wants our help? He didn't tell us anything...and then...he lied to us." Softly, "He lied to me."

After talking to Ranger and reading through the file he'd left behind, I was beginning to understand the rationale behind his actions. For Ranger's sake and for hers I hoped I could make Steph understand.

She waited with not a lot of patience. Fidgeting, ready to bolt. How to respond? I knew Ranger better than anyone but he hadn't seen fit to be any more forthcoming with me.

I took a minute to gather my thoughts, then I told her, "Founding RangeMan, getting it up and running, building its success...that's important to Ranger. But it's what he does for fun. What defines him and has for a long time is the work he does on contract. Alone, doing dirty jobs that make the world a better place, using his smarts and skills to stay alive...that's what he does to breathe."

I motioned to the three photos. "These men did that work too. Not like Ranger. No one can do it like Ranger; he's the best. But, they did it with the same passion. Their deaths are personal to him. When Dolan asked for his help, Ranger could only answer yes."

My words troubled her. She wouldn't look at me. She said, mostly to herself, "Doesn't leave much of him for me."

"Steph! He didn't want to worry you." She rolled her eyes. "Any more than absolutely necessary." He didn't tell me...because..." I stopped. I knew why he didn't tell me. "This morning I told him if I'd known I would have locked him up to keep him from going through with this. He knew I'd try to talk him out of it and he didn't want the distraction of an argument."

She reached out and squeezed my hand. "It's okay, Tank. I get it."

She didn't get it. I wasn't finished. I hadn't told her that since he met her and especially since she'd moved in, Ranger had found a new source of air - one that not only let him breathe but also let him laugh and love and maybe forgive himself for some of the things he'd had to do. No, I wasn't finished, but she was all done listening.

"What can we do to help him?" she asked. "Anything?"

She'd deftly changed the subject. Maybe she was right. Maybe at the moment helping him was more important than getting her to understand. Maybe after all only Ranger could explain it.

"We're going to review his preparation," I said tapping the pile of paperwork. "Ranger did his homework. We're going to do it again. Put fresh eyes on it. I want you to take the three victims. Find out everything you can. How they lived...how they died. I've called in some favors to get access to some files we'll need. Anything else, Hector can hack."

She agreed. Ready to get started.

"There's no idea who killed them?" she asked.

"Who actually used the knife, wielded the pipe? Yeah, we have a pretty good idea. After each man's death, an inmate who had been denied bail was suddenly released. We know those names. What we don't know is who put them up to it, who promised them their freedom if they'd commit murder."

Steph's brow furrowed in confusion. "Can't we find them? Ask them? You guys are good at persuasion."

"We could," I agreed, "if we could find them. Two of them have disappeared without a trace and one is very dead. According to Ranger's plan whoever goes after him will be released. We follow. See what happens. Les is already checking on who's been denied bail."

I realized that she'd gone very quiet.

"Tank?"

Her eyes were bright with un-shed tears.

"What is it, Steph?"

"This plan of his. It only works if Ranger dies. Unless there's a body, no one is released. There is no one to follow. You said being 'in the wind' was breath to Ranger but...all the publicity around his arrest...he'll never be able to do that again. Not like before." Her voice was choked and raw, "Does he want to die?"

She really didn't know how much he loved her. I moved to take her in my arms. She held on tight. Shaking. Breathing hard. I thought about the ring upstairs, nestled in its soft bed of velvet and safely locked away. Waiting. I couldn't tell her about that.

I pulled away so she could see the conviction in my eyes. "Steph, I know that dying is the last thing he wants to do. We're just going to have to trust him."

"Yeah, well. I'm having a little trouble with that."

TBC


	13. Chapter 13

Not my characters (except for the ones you don't recognize, they belong to me), they belong to Janet Evanovich, but as long as Ranger can come out and play I can live with that.

Thought it was time to check in with Ranger. There's some language.

**The Right To Remain Silent**

**by**

**SueB**

Chapter 13

_Two Days Later_

"Somthin's up."

"How do you mean, old man?"

Cain had taken to sitting with me at the mid-day meal.

"Can't ya feel it?"

I knew exactly what he was talking about. I could feel it. A buzz in the air, a constant hum. Had it been electricity the current would have thrown the circuit breakers and blown fuses as it surged through the wires. Problem was this place lacked safety valves. Something had to give, sooner or later. I wanted the old man's take on it.

"Seen it before," he said closing red rheumy eyes and lifting his stubbly chin so his nose pointed toward the ceiling, sniffing like a wolf testing the breeze. "Sometimes you can even smell it."

"Smell it?"

He looked at me, surprised I didn't get it, but when he saw my face he knew I understood. He smiled a snaggle-toothed grin.

"You know - tension, fear, anger, frustration, boredom."

"Lethal ingredients," I offered.

"It's some soup, for sure," he said.

I was sitting with my back to the wall, Cain across from me. He had to look over his shoulder to scan the room.

"Soup that's 'bout to boil over. Any time now I'd say."

You didn't have to be a keen observer to see what he meant. The men who had already gotten their meals sat hunched with shoulders tight and bunched. They used one hand to hug their trays protectively and the other to shovel the rations into their mouths. It wasn't a tea party. There was no idle chit chat.

Ordinarily food service moved at a plodding orderly pace. Today the queue twisted like a tortured conga line. Angry murmurs accompanied poking, prodding elbows, jostling shoulders.

"Cut it out!" "Back off!" Suddenly a fist erupted together with, "What the fuck!"

Three men exchanged blows but the CO's moved in knocking heads and quickly escorting the perpetrators out of the room. My guess was they'd have a hungry twenty-four hours.

Clyde's sharp commands, "Move along!" "Straighten up!" herded the men remaining in line into a semblance of order.

"Bettin' it ain't over yet," Cain predicted as he turned his attention back to me.

Truthfully, it wasn't me that held his interest. He had his eye on my tray. The first day I'd learned the evening meal was generally better than the one at noon. Today, I'd eaten my salad even though it was soggy with dressing and hoped for something more palatable at dinner.

"You gonna eat that?" Cain asked, pointing a bent spoon at the coagulated orange mass on my plate. It sat in a puddle of separated oil.

I shook my head and shoved my tray in his direction as he slid his own out of the way. He dug into the deadly neon pile with lip-smacking relish.

"You live on the street long enough, young fella, you don't leave good food uneaten," he chided me, allowing a curled piece of macaroni to escape down his chin. He discovered it stuck on his chest and scooped it up from there to stuff it back into his mouth.

Although I had a hard time agreeing with his definition of 'good food', his words gave me the opening I'd been seeking. Prior to my arrest, I'd done research on the jail's current detainees. Somehow Cain had escaped me. Unknowns made me nervous - no matter how old and harmless they might seem. He was a complete unknown.

"You been on the street a while." I put it out there as a statement. Men in jail were seldom big on questions.

"Yeah," he said around another mouthful, "a while."

Sounded like that was all that I would get. I didn't push, just left the subject on the table. The old man finished the macaroni and started in on my bread and butter.

He stuffed his cheeks full like a chipmunk before he said, "Twelve."

"What?" Could I have heard him right? 'Twelve?'

"Thas when my ma put me out. At twelve." He said it as a matter of fact while going about the business of mopping up the last of oil with the final bite of bread.

"Jesus!" I failed to hide hide my horrified reaction.

You couldn't tell from looking at him how old Cain was, but even subtracting ten years for hard living it had been a hell of a long time since he'd seen twelve.

"God knows I gave my mother a hard time growing up," I said quietly, "but I know she never considered..."

I couldn't finish the thought. It felt like a slap to his face. When I took up with bad company, my mother had loved me enough to send me out of state to my grandmother so I'd have half a chance at living to adulthood. I'd never thanked her for that. Now I put it on my list of things to do if I was still alive when this was over. Reconnect with the family I'd held at arm's length for so long. It was number two.

His next words made it seem like the old man had read my mind, "Probly," he said, forgiving me for having a mother who cared, "you didn't kill your brother."

He went on before I had a chance to answer. "Don't get me wrong, I didn't blame her. I loved my ma. An' she tried to love me, but I was trouble from the day I was born." His voice went soft as he said, "Really, she tried."

Hard to say which one of us he was trying to convince.

"That's how you got your name. On the street they called you 'Cain' because you killed your brother."

"Yeah, they called me Cain, but weren't no nickname from the street."

"No?"

"Thas my legal name gived me by my ma. See, my brother and me, we was twins. Somehow we got tangled up inside her. I choked him to death gettin' myself born. Like I said, trouble from day one."

No wonder the man had remained homeless. After spending his formative years with a mother who considered him a murderer and made sure he knew it, the street's environment must have seemed almost healthy. Sad.

"Haven't you ever wanted to settle in, find a permanent place?"

He considered, "Naw." Then, "Well not 'til lately. Bones is gettin' old - pavement's harder, colder is colder, hot is hotter. People's different too. Mean is meaner these days somehow."

My list of things to do was getting longer. I'd have to check him out further, but we usually had a spare apartment at RangeMan. Louis wasn't getting any younger. Ella was always after him to slow down. He would welcome a little custodial help.

At the moment I couldn't offer Cain anything but hope. At the moment that's all I had too, but I was willing to share. "Cain, you know your way around a broom," I began. "What do you say when we get..."

I stopped short as I looked over the old man's shoulder and saw what was developing. He'd been right about the negative energy still lingering in the room. Shakir Wilson gave one of his gang a sign. The lackey got up from their table and sauntered toward the last man getting his food. Only it wasn't a man; it was a boy, my cheerleader from two days ago. I'd learned his name was Pauley. He'd landed here only twenty-four hours before I did so he too had fallen through the net of my research, but I didn't need a background check to know he belonged in a different kind of facility. He lived in his own sick little world and, although he might well be a murderer, one thing was certain. He wasn't equipped to play whatever game Shakir had in mind.

Without another word I was out of my seat. I heard Cain mutter, "Shit, fella, you don't wanta do this," when he realized what I was about.

Several quick strides put me behind Shakir's man before he got to Pauley. "Hey!" I called sharply, loud enough for those nearby to see me place my open palm harmlessly on the man's shoulder. I was a master of illusion. What they didn't see was my swift blow to the back of his knee. I was well away from him when he went down. Completely unaware he'd been a target, Pauley picked up his tray and meandered toward the table where I'd been sitting. Cain was gone.

The CO's attended to the fallen man while Shakir and the rest of his crew made noise and pointed at me. Calmly, I returned to my table to retrieve my dirty dishes.

Clyde came up beside me, leaned in to whisper. "I warned you before, Manoso," he said. "Remember, this mission is fucked if you end up in solitary and no one can get to you."

"Man tripped, Clyde," I said evenly. "Clumsy."

"The fuck he is," he responded.

Pauley gestured at my tray. "You gonna eat that?" he asked.

Guess Cain didn't have a sweet tooth. Pauley pointed to a dried out square of brownie all alone on my plate.

I shook my head. Sometimes, what it came down to was food and the space to eat it undisturbed.

#####

_That night at RangeMan _

It was late. We'd been at it for two days and I didn't think we were any closer to having something that might help Ranger. I was bone weary, cross-eyed and about to face plant in my keyboard. I needed some shut eye before I could be productive again. From the lights that were on when I came out of my office, I knew Steph was still at it. She had been relentless in her pursuit of information. She needed rest too. None of us would be any good to Ranger if we were sleep deprived and careless.

"Come on, Steph," I said when I reached her cubicle. "Pack it up for tonight. We'll start again in the morning."

To my surprise, she didn't seem tired. In fact, she was bright-eyed and alert. Excited even.

"Tank, I think I've got something. Look here."

She angled her monitor so I could see the photo she'd brought up.

I was too tired to comprehend. "Yeah, so..."

She had no patience with my fatigue. "Look," she demanded. "Do you know who that is?"

I had to admit that I did not.

"I'm pretty sure it's Marcus Solokov," she told me. "The third victim. The one who'd been offline and homeless. I don't think he's dead!"

Funny how information like that can feel like mainlining caffeine or maybe like ice cubes down your underwear. Suddenly, sleep isn't a priority any more.

"How can that be?" I asked cautiously. "Ranger would have checked him out. Can't tell me he didn't notice that Solokov wasn't dead."

"That's just it," Steph said, "when I used the codes Ranger supplied, Marcus shows up dead, but Hector worked his magic. When I used the codes he hacked, Marcus comes up alive and well."

"So someone doctored what was given to Ranger."

"It looks that way," she agreed.

Shit.

I checked my watch. It was well after 2:00 a.m. No way to get the info to Ranger before morning.

"David Markham has a meeting with Ranger today at 9:00. He's recommending a criminal attorney to take over the case and try to get bail arranged, although you and I both know that's not in Ranger's plans. Still, Markham can let him know what we've found so far."

"Tank," she said, her face anxious and concerned, "do you think morning will be time enough?"

"It'll have to be."

TBC


	14. Chapter 14

Not my characters (except for the ones you don't recognize, they belong to me), they belong to Janet Evanovich, but as long as Ranger can come out and play I can live with that.

I know I told some readers that it was going to be a long night both in jail and at RangeMan. Steph and Ranger had a lot of things to think about. The night ended up being far longer than I realized for everyone. I hope it makes sense.

**The Right To Remain Silent**

**by**

**SueB**

**Chapter 14**

"Go to bed," Tank said. "You did good work, Steph, but we can't hand off the info until morning."

He glanced at his watch, blew out a sigh. "Trust me, morning isn't all that far away. Get some rest. If we're fresh, we'll have a better shot at piecing this together."

The last two days I'd only cat napped on the couch in Ranger's office. I was exhausted. He was right.

I heard him. Didn't mean I listened.

Instead, I stayed at my monitor hitting dead end after dead end. Not finding one clue about who might have doctored Ranger's intel. And terrified to consider why they would.

Now I stood in the bedroom on the seventh floor with Tank's words rumbling through my head _Go to bed. Go to bed. Go to bed._ and I knew why I'd ignored him.

"For Pete's sake just climb in, Stephanie, it's only a bed." I said it out loud, convincingly I thought. But, it wasn't only a bed. The last time I was in it Ranger had made slow sweet love to me and, sated, I'd slept peacefully in his embrace. Even if he lived through this, I didn't know if that would ever happen again. I didn't know if I could let it happen again. He'd lied to me. He didn't trust me.

"Get in. Get in. Get in. Get in," I repeated like a mantra. "After all, it's not like you haven't slept in this bed alone before!"

Several times when I'd collected a new 'crazy' Ranger had allowed me or insisted that I stay at his apartment. Luxuriating in his 1000 thread count sheets almost made the wackos worth it. Usually Ranger had been 'in the wind' when I camped out at his place, but not always. When he was home, he shared the bed with me. On those occasions he made it plain he was more than willing to share his body too, but he left that decision up to me. I turned him down each time. I had tasted that body once. My psyche couldn't afford the addiction another sampling would mean. He never pressured me, never refused to only hold me all night long if that was what I needed. In my mind, the safety of his arms was better than any other fortification Haywood had to offer.

"You're a grown up, Stephanie. Lie down and go to sleep. You'll never even notice he's not there." Right! "Like not noticing your heart is missing," I mumbled. God, was I still talking out loud? Yeah, I was. "Things are different from three days ago," I told myself in a whisper. Like whispering made me any more sane. Things were different. The problem was, before I moved in full time, I always thought of this king-sized expanse as Ranger's bed, but now...now I thought of it as ours.

#####

We all suffered for the ruckus during lunch. Every inmate was under lockdown. Eventually, a trustee with a squeaky cart made his way down the row of cells unceremoniously shoving dinner though the bars, a paper-wrapped sandwich, cold and dry. Almost made me wish I'd eaten the damn macaroni.

After my first night in the general population, my cell mate, a small taciturn man who did not divulge his name, had been released. His empty bed was left unfilled. Whether by chance or design I didn't know, but I was alone. Alone with my thoughts.

Only I was never really alone with my thoughts. Hadn't been since one fateful day in a low rent Trenton diner.

Babe.

She didn't know it but she accompanied me on every mission - waited with me to intercept a Taliban official on a frozen Afghan mountain, stayed by my side while slogging through Colombia's cocaine infested swamps, kept me company during endless nights of tedious surveillance in half a dozen different countries.

Then one day she was the only reason I came home. On my knees, hands bound behind me, a captive of the Chechen mafia, I felt the cold steel of the executioner's pistol at my neck. With seconds to live, I heard her voice, clear and urgent - _Ranger, I love you, come back to me._ I heard her voice and the earth shifted beneath me, bringing destruction down upon my captors' heads.

I hadn't told her how much she meant to me, how she lit a fire in my soul and kept me from the darkness. She didn't know that no matter how ingloriously I'd managed it, the one night I'd spent loving her had branded me as hers forever. I let her believe that we had chemistry, but nothing else...especially not a future. I spent my passion protecting her and I held my men responsible for her well being when I could not be there.

Yet the earth had moved because she loved me. I didn't deserve her love but I returned from that assignment determined to make my declaration in spite of my shortcomings, to offer her a choice other than Morelli. After Chechnya, my contract was only two months shy of ending. If she'd have me, I'd soon be free.

Except when I got back she was tighter with the cop than ever. When she stopped by my office, I didn't know at first that the reason was to tell me, friend to friend.

I rose to greet her and took her in my arms burying my face in her fragrant curly hair. She held me close and then pulled away to lay her hand against my cheek. My skin warmed to her touch. She set me on fire.

"I was afraid you weren't coming back," she said softly. "I'm so glad you're safe."

I moved my head to catch her fingertips between my lips, waiting for the words I knew were coming next - _Ranger, I love you_. And had to slam my blank face hard into place when she went on determinedly, "Joe and I know we have a ways to go, but we are going to make it work."

Turned out the shaking ground had been nothing more than a fortuitous seismic event, her voice the yearning hallucination of a man about to die. The same day I signed the paperwork selling my skills to Uncle Sam's shadowy twin for an extended term.

#####

With all the twists and turns the path of our relationship had taken, I should have realized from the start that Ranger and I were likely to finish at a dead end.

I knew I loved him the day I told him that Joe and I were going to make a go of things. I knew too that he only loved me 'in his own way.' I wasn't stupid and he'd certainly told me enough times. I had to let him go. There was no question Ranger and I had a connection. God knows there was the sexual attraction. The touch of his fingertip under my chin sent shivers down my spine. A hint of his hard-earned smile warmed me like the hottest sun. His kiss turned my bones to molten lava.

But, there was more to it than hormones. I didn't always know what he was thinking, but I always knew when he was near. The tingle at the back of my neck sure didn't happen with anyone else.

That tingle became nonexistent after Joe and I got together. Ranger went 'in the wind' more often and for longer periods of time. I asked Tank why that was and didn't like his answer.

"Told me he was needed more out there than he was here," the Big Guy said. "Said out there he had things under control."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" I sputtered.

Tank frowned, shrugged.

A cold fist of fear clenched my stomach. "He's being careful isn't he?" I whispered.

"I hope so," Tank had responded, "but I don't know."

I didn't sleep real well after he said that.

Joe and I had chemistry, not to mention history, but in spite of my good intentions, I quickly reconfirmed we'd always have uncommon goals. His goal was to turn me into the baby-making homemaker that I'd resisted all my life and mine was to make sure that he didn't. No way it was ever going to work. I told him I was all through trying and wasn't going to try again. I'm not sure he believed me.

When Ranger finally came back after eight months away, Joe and I had been split for five.

#####

Night noises. Rough low rumble of a heavy door rolling. Closing with a clank. Solid. Final. Locked in. Singing. Loud, off key. Unappreciated. 'Shut the fuck up!' Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Metal against metal. Code? Or bored monotony? Snores and whimpers. A sob. 'Ma!' Also unappreciated. 'Shut the fuck up!' Night noises.

Finally relative quiet reigned. It was late. Down the hall I heard. _Splash. Splat. Swish. Swish. Scrape._ Again. _Splash. Splat. Swish. Swish. Scrape._ The regular rhythm repeated itself, coming closer until I could make out Cain in the half-light of the hall moving his mop from side to side and shoving his bucket along.

"We're on lockdown, Old Man," I said quietly. "How come you're workin'?"

He startled, looking toward my cell but unable to see into the darkened corner where I was sitting on the floor.

"Thought you sleepin'," he said. "That's what decent men be doin' now."

"Decent men?" I snorted. "That would explain why I'm awake." I paused then said. "Still doesn't tell me why you're workin'."

"Dirt ain't on lockdown," he grumbled. "They let me work most nights just to keep up. Besides," he went on, humor in his voice, "I can go faster when I don't have to jaw with the criminals."

He rested on his mop a minute. Looked my way again. "Just a word," he offered. "They be doin' maintenance tomorrow in the johns. I hear tell they might be gettin' people up tonight takin' small groups in to shower. Jess so you all don't stink up the place worse than usual in the mornin'."

"Guess I'll stay up then," I said. "Appreciate the notice."

He nodded and continued with his task. _Splash. Splat. Swish. Swish. Scrape._ I continued with my task too, a silent roll call of my possible attackers and the contemplation of how much longer it would be before I was confronted.

#####

It was Joe who told me Ranger was back. It hadn't been a good day. I'd finally tagged my morning FTA and was in need of some intensive donut therapy when Joe's car squealed to the curb. He got out and threw his flasher on the roof. For a minute I thought I was under arrest. Half a Boston Creme fell out of my mouth and plopped onto the sidewalk.

"Shit!"

I was seriously considering enforcing the five second rule and stuffing the pastry back in my mouth when Joe leered.

"Cupcake! Aren't you lookin' fine!"

My jeans were ripped, my hair glistened with tomato sauce and my forearm was scratched from wrist to elbow. No question I needed fat and calories.

Joe went on, "No wonder Manoso's on you like a fly on a pile."

"What?" I was only half way to retrieving my treat from the ground.

"Well, you don't have a new stalker that I know about, but there's been a RangeMan vehicle in your neighborhood three nights running. I know you haven't been gettin' any from me so I figured you two were fucking like bunnies."

"Joe!"

Ranger? Here?

What I wouldn't give to be able to pull off a blank face. I knew mine was filled with doubt, embarrassment and confusion. If Ranger was home, why didn't I know? Why hadn't someone told me? Why hadn't Ranger told me?

"Hey, you didn't know he was back?" Seeing my expression and satisfied with the damage he'd done, Joe climbed in his car, did a u-turn and waved, calling out, "Gee, sorry, Cupcake, Maybe I'm mistaken."

After that I didn't think even Boston Cremes would help.

#####

As Cain moved on I flipped to my belly and tried a couple push ups. The exercise sent a blaze of pain through my chest. I pushed out twenty more and then switched to sit ups. I was done after fifteen. Even the light workout had my ribs screaming and my head pounding, things I'd have to ignore if I wanted to stay alive. I desperately wanted to stay alive. My body dripped with sweat. I hoped Cain was right. A shower would be welcome. I sat on the floor leaning against the wall, watching the darkness.

As long as Steph stayed with me there, the darkness was manageable. If she left me, I was lost. I thought I was finished when she decided to be with Joe. I didn't intend to come back from the next mission, but after eight long months, I did. Not even Tank knew I was in Trenton. I stole a RangeMan fleet vehicle off the street - Manny had some explaining to do - and spent three nights staring at her window.

In the early hours of the fourth night, Tank almost died when, unannounced, he opened the SUV's door and slid in.

"I should have you arrested for grand theft auto," he said without preamble.

"How'd you know I was here?"

"You're the only one I could think of in this town who'd have the balls to steal a RangeMan truck."

"Fuck off. Not stealing. I own it." It was good to see old friends.

"You want to tell me what you're doin' sittin' here?"

Maybe not so good. "No."

He went ahead and answered my unasked question.

"She's not with the cop. Hasn't been for five months. Doubt she will be again."

I couldn't help myself. An odd strangled sound of relief came from somewhere near my soul.

Tank grasped my shoulder in one strong hand. "All you had to do was ask, Rangeman. I could have saved you three night's sleep. Go see her," he urged adding, "Morelli drives by every night from what I've heard. He probably knows you're back."

#####

Joe had been right.

My locks tumbled in the wee morning hours and I felt not just a tingle, but a warm all over glow.

Ranger.

It wasn't unusual for him to slip into my room in the middle of the night. He'd been away so long. I wanted to run to him, hug him, welcome him home, but I didn't know what he needed. In the past he often came and stayed the longest when things had not gone well - a bad takedown, a man injured, a mission FUBARed.

Normally he kept his vigil from the chair in the corner of my room. A dark silent angel come to guard my dreams. This night as I feigned sleep, he sank to his knees beside my bed, folded his arms on the edge of the mattress and rested his head there. Was he asleep? Praying? When his body began to shake, I knew it was neither of those things. I couldn't stand any more.

"Ranger," I breathed, caressing his back with a feather light touch.

He jerked away, moaned like I had hurt him.

"No!" he cried. "Babe! Don't!" He wiped his hand across his face.

"I'm...I'm sorry," I stammered. "Are you okay? I'm sorry." I scooted back up against the headboard, hugged myself to keep my hands off him.

"No," he said. "No, it's not that." He shook his head. Laughed a little. "But, if you touch me, I'm going to ravage you."

"Yeah, so what's the problem?" I muttered.

Then he did laugh. But his laughter was soon gone as he retreated to the chair and became all business. "I don't want hormones, yours or mine, to have anything to do with what I need to say."

"Ranger! What?" I screeched.

I guess I scared him. He bowed his head, got up and said, "Shit! I must be crazy. This is all wrong. I better go. I don't know what I was thinking."

No way he was leaving me like that! "Batman!" I said, "Sit your ass back down and spill!"

That's when all the fight and tension left him and he simply said, "I love you Babe."

Oh.

#####

In my line of work you sometimes have to catch your sleep standing up so a quick nap while sitting on the floor of my cell was nothing unusual. I hadn't planned on dreaming. On reliving my decision to tell her that I loved her. In the end telling her had been easy. Reciting the litany of reasons she shouldn't love me back was what was hard.

I'd hadn't finished my list when she interrupted.

"Ranger."

I'd warned her away from me knowing her touch would break me as no torture ever had. There wasn't any stopping her this time as she moved toward me. She cradled my face in her hands, made me look at the truth in her eyes.

"I already know all these things," she said softly. "Never stopped me from loving you before...,"

Before. She loved me before.

"not going to stop me now."

"There's something else," I said, capturing her hands, holding them between us.

She opened her mouth, wanted to talk. I stopped her, a fingertip to her lips. "Let me finish."

Frustrated, she sighed, but nodded.

"I recently signed a heavy contract." No need for her to know exactly when, to know it was due to my failure to speak up when she'd come to me about the cop. "It's for an extended period, the missions all high risk."

"Ranger, it doesn't mat..."

"It does matter. You need to know. Asking you to be with me under these circumstances is the most selfish thing I've ever done. I could be called out five minutes from now and be gone within the hour. By this time tomorrow I might be half way around the world or already dead. And every time I go, the chances of my coming back go down. You need to understand that."

"How long?" she asked tentatively.

"Another three years."

Her eyes were bright with tears, but she managed a tremulous smile. "Then we better not waste any time."

God, I loved this woman.

She moved into Haywood the next day.

A month later when Harry Dolan asked for my help with his unsanctioned operation, I traded for my freedom. If anyone could make my contract go away it was Harry. All I had to do was stay alive.

#####

Exhaustion.

Gravity.

They were the only things that could have made me lie down in this bed.

Stupidity.

That's why I was clutching Ranger's pillow so tightly that my arms ached. Breathing in his essence.

On the morning of his arrest, I'd asked Ella not to change the sheets on the seventh floor. My face flushed in embarrassment, but I didn't want to lose the scent of his presence. She took my hand in her soft worn grasp and said kindly, "It's all right, dear, I understand. You let me know when you're ready."

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak and she wrapped her arms around me whispering, "He'll be back before you know it."

Now I didn't know if he was coming back and I had to decide whether I'd be here if he did.

Miraculously, in the two and a half months we had been together, he hadn't been called away. I'd been sublimely happy. So had he. I thought. He'd been more open with me than ever before. It was only when he revealed glimpses of the ugliness that had been his life's work that his habitual grim intensity took over. _Can you still love me after the things I've done?_ his dark eyes would ask? I'd show him with my words and body that I loved him even more for trusting me with his vulnerabilities.

I didn't love him any less now. I would never stop loving him, but the events of the past two days and Ranger's obvious planning of them made me question whether I'd ever owned his trust at all.

It was the one thing I had to have to stay with him. Non-negotiable. As he would say.

My dilemma didn't stop me from worrying. Was Ranger all right? Was he in pain from the injuries he'd suffered during his arrest? Could he defend himself adequately if/when he was attacked? Would he have to die to successfully complete this mission? Would I ever understand why he hadn't been honest with me? Oh God!

I tossed and turned, cried into his pillow soaking it with tears. Finally, completely spent, I drifted into sleep.

In the morning, I'd ask Ella for clean linens.

#####

Irritated voices told me Cain's information had been true. The men were being rousted out for showers. They'd hear no complaint from me. It was good news. Even better news was that when it came my turn the inmates accompanying me were all ones whom I had already checked out and dismissed as possible assailants.

The others had finished when I grabbed the soap to wash my hair. It was still sticky with blood from the cut on my head.

"Hurry up, Manoso. This ain't the Ritz ya know."

Clyde's voice. He'd pulled a double shift.

"No shit," I cussed when the strong prison soap sluiced into my eyes, stinging and burning. I held my face under the water and then bowed my head to finish rinsing off.

There was a noise. Squinting and blinking, I shook my head ridding my hair of excess water and turned directly into the sharp, keen edge of a deadly prison shiv.

"Sorry," my attacker said as the blade ripped into my abdomen. "Really sorry."

I was sorry too. Wasn't my foes I needed to worry about.

I dropped, gasping and clutching the wound, the weapon clattered to the floor beside me along with the cloth he'd used to wipe it clean. He melted away into the steamy mist.

Into the mist seemed to be where I was headed too. Pauley led the next group into the locker room.

He found me bleeding on the tile and screamed, "He's dead! He's dead! He's dead!"

Not yet, I thought. But maybe soon. Shit. I didn't want to die.

"Babe."

Then darkness.

#####

Cold panic! Icy dread! Glacial paralyzing fear!

#####

_Pound! Pound! Pound!_

_Pound! Pound!_

"It's 4:30 in the fuckin' mornin'," I growled pulling up sweats on the way to the door. "What the hell couldn't wait until..."

"Tank! Tank!" _Pound! Pound!_

Steph! Jesus!

I yanked at the door. She stood there fragile, pale and shaking, dressed in a too big black T-shirt and a blanket.

"Tank! Oh! Tank!"

I heard my cell phone ringing. Behind me, wherever I had abandoned it when I went to bed. I ignored it to take Steph into my arms.

"Steph, Baby Girl, what's the matter?"

"Tank," she cried. "Ranger's in trouble!"

A moment later when I checked my missed call, the ID read - Mercer County Jail.

Shit! No!

TBC


	15. Chapter 15

Not my characters (except for the ones you don't recognize, they belong to me), they belong to Janet Evanovich, but as long as Ranger can come out and play I can live with that.

**The Right To Remain Silent**

**by**

**SueB**

**Chapter 15**

_This is Lorilei Lipinski, WZBN news, coming to you live from the Mercer County Jail with breaking news of a stunning development in the story of Ricardo Carlos 'aka' Ranger Manoso. We have been informed by an unimpeachable source that Manoso, the Trenton businessman, government special operative and rumored mercenary who was arrested several days ago for the cold-blooded murder of Edward Abruzzi was stabbed to death by an unknown assailant in the early morning hours here at the county lockup where he was being held without bail pending trial. As we reported to you earlier in the week..._

Steph hit the mute button when she heard the door open, blessedly silencing Lips Lipinski's strident voice.

"Did you see him?" she asked.

This was a discussion I did not want to have.

"Did...you...see...him?" She emphasized each word.

Yeah, a discussion I really did not want to have.

"Tank!"

"Steph,...I.."

She spun around in the chair. Ranger's chair. The one at his desk where she had been plugged into his computer ever since we'd received confirmation of his death. I didn't know how many times she had replayed Lips Lipinski's report, but she wasn't crying. Wasn't crying because she didn't believe it. Didn't believe it for a minute.

"It's a 'yes' or 'no' answer, Tank. Did you identify Ranger's body? Did you see him?"

I had spent an incredibly frustrating two and a half hours at the morgue. Two and a half hours of red tape and paperwork only to finally be told Ranger's body wasn't there. I sure as hell didn't want him to be dead, but neither did I want to fuel false hope that he was alive.

"Tank! Yes or no?" She was up now, right in my face.

I closed my eyes and shook my head no.

"Ohhhh!" She exhaled relief, sinking back down into the soft leather of Ranger's chair.

"I knew it. I knew it," she murmured softly.

I crossed the room, went down on one knee beside her. "Steph, listen to me," I said, "his body wasn't there..."

"Of course not," she broke in, "why would it be there? He's not..."

"but that doesn't mean he isn't dead."

"But.."

I took her hands, held them tightly.

"I said to listen, okay? Listen."

She nodded. Her armor in danger of cracking. God! I didn't want to do this.

"David Markham got a hold of me while I was at the morgue."

Her eyes widened slightly at the mention of Ranger's lawyer.

"Unfortunately, I'd already wasted over two hours there before he called."

Tank, I don't understand."

"Listen," I reiterated. "I knew that Ranger had revised his will shortly before his arrest."

She frowned, her brow knit.

I went on. "Markham filled me in on what I didn't know. The revision included instructions concerning..." I had to stop, swallow, get control of myself. "concerning the disposition of his remains should...should he be killed."

She had to swallow too, but she lifted her chin, stared, waiting for me to continue.

"At Ranger's request the Army picked up his body, Steph. I don't know how. I don't know why. They will make the identification, he'll be cremated. Then they'll return his ashes to us."

"When?"

"Probably some time tomorrow." I let her digest that information and then went on. "We should make funeral arrangements," I said gently.

How could she be smiling? The look on her face made me glad that on the way in I'd alerted Bobby to join us with a sedative. She was losing it. She probably hadn't had four hours of sleep in the last seventy-two.

She pulled her hands from my grasp, used them to cradle my face, anchoring my head so I couldn't refuse her point. "Tank, we know he's 'in the wind' - on a mission. I've been thinking about it. Based on the other murders, he had to die." She corrected herself. "Appear to die, so his killer will be released. They'll follow the attacker to whoever is pulling the strings. No body! Doesn't that seem just a little too convenient to you?" she asked. "Doesn't it?"

"Steph, you believe you and Ranger have a some kind of connection and you said it yourself," I reminded her. "You knew he was in trouble."

"Exactly," she returned. "in trouble. Not dead. I'd know if he were dead, Tank," she said softly, with conviction. "Believe me, I'd know."

Given the circumstances, that seemed like a pretty fine line.

The door opened. That would be Bobby. Thank God. She was definitely losing it.

Or not. Her eyes never left mine, but she knew who it was and why he was here.

"Bobby Brown! If you come one step closer to me with the syringe I know you have behind your back, you will never father a child! I may not be trained in hand-to-hand combat, but I have a knee and I know how to use it."

I looked at him in time to see Bobby turn several shades of green and back out of the office. Chicken-shit!

Steph was back to the business at hand. "So are we going to help him, Tank?"

I gave up. Maybe it was better to let her fantasy run its course. She'd drop from exhaustion sooner-or-later. Then we'd do what we could to pick up the pieces.

"What do you propose?" I asked.

"We need to make funeral arrangements," she said.

I must have looked puzzled.

"He's supposed to be dead. Remember. And," she added, "there must be some magic way to get in touch with Harry Dolan. We didn't get a chance to tell Ranger. Give Dolan what we found out about Marcus Solokov. I have a feeling he's involved."

At this point, who was I to contradict her intuition?

#####

_Graveside. Two days later._

The grave site was surrounded by a sea of black. Every RangeMan employee who wasn't on duty had shown up in uniform to pay tribute to the boss. I prayed that whether Ranger was alive or dead he was aware of the respect and loyalty he commanded.

There was love here too. Those of us closest to him stood in the front row. Cal, Junior, Hal, Lester, Bobby, myself...and Steph.

Ranger had been very specific about his funeral arrangements. No media. At least not within the boundaries of the cemetery. The one or two paparazzi wannabes who'd tried to breach the perimeter for photos of the grief-stricken Bombshell Bounty Hunter had swiftly realized their error when confronted by a solid black-clad wall. No church service. His ashes would be buried with only brief words from a renegade priest who was willing to do the job for a price.

The cleric in question was ready to begin when I felt a ripple of movement beside me. Lester reached around Bobby to tap me on the arm. He caught my eye and inclined his head toward a woman who was carefully picking her way across the uneven ground although it was her carriage and not the height of her heels that made her seem taller than she was.

Didn't think any of them would come," Lester observed quietly.

I nodded my agreement. Steph glanced at the woman and then at me, her expression a silent inquiry.

"Celia," I told her. "Ranger's sister."

Celia joined our front line as the priest began, "In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost."

I had no time to explain that Ranger had cut off communication with his family a long time ago.

#####

"...the Son and the Holy Ghost. Amen."

The service was over. It had taken longer to assemble the attendees than it had to put Ranger in the ground.

The priest stepped back allowing mourners a moment of privacy. Several of us tossed a handful of earth into the grave. When it was Steph's turn, she knelt down. Her mouth moved with a whispered message for only Ranger to hear. Her token wasn't soil. It was a blood red rose. Celia watched then turned and left without a word to any of us.

Lester escorted Steph to the Cayenne. We'd parked within the cemetery gates to afford her protection from the several television cameras outside. I lingered. Even with Hector's help, my efforts to reach Harry Dolan had been futile - bounced e-mails, firewalls, disconnected telephone numbers, you name it. I was convinced the man didn't exist. When my cell rang while I was dressing for the funeral I almost didn't answer it. Nothing about the caller ID was familiar.

_"Yeah."_

_"You've been trying to reach me." _

_"Dolan?"_

_Silence. _

_"All right. I get it. Assuming you're the person I've been trying to reach, we have some information that might be useful to you."_

_"What could you possibly have that I wouldn't already know?" _

_"Listen, Dirt Bag, you snared my oldest friend in your game and I'm not very happy with the results. Steph dug up some intel concerning your little problem, but I'll tell her you don't want it. That you're not concerned about catching whoever wanted all your operatives dead, including Ranger."_

_"Stephanie." _

_I guess I got his attention. _

_"Ranger's...friend. She's that good?" _

_"Never mind. We'll find him ourselves. When we're finished with the guy, you can have what's left." _

_I disconnected. Angry. _

_Five seconds later my cell rang again. His voice had a rougher edge to it this time. No nonsense. _

_"Give it to the priest," he said. _

_"Is he dead?" I couldn't help asking. But Dolan was gone. _

So while the good father was busy brushing dirt from his cassock, I walked up to him and thrust an envelope into his pudgy hands. It held $500 in remuneration for his services and everything we had on Marcus Solokov.

TBC

Sorry, no word yet on whether Steph is right about Ranger. Maybe next chapter. :)


	16. Chapter 16

Not my characters (except for the ones you don't recognize, they belong to me), they belong to Janet Evanovich, but as long as Ranger can come out and play I can live with that.

This chapter was supposed to be up a little sooner, but I did a dumb thing and lost half of it. I think I mostly got it back. My four letter word vocabulary got some exercise however.

**The Right To Remain Silent**

**by**

**SueB**

**Chapter 16**

"You still gonna camp out here?"

Tank followed me into Ranger's office. His question not meant to be unkind.

I kicked my heels off into a pile in the corner that already held several pairs of my sneakers. There was bedding on the couch, there were clothes draped over the desk chair and deodorant, makeup and a hairdryer parked on the window sill. The space looked more like a woman's efficiency apartment than the CEO's hub of operations for a top-ranked security firm.

Probably Tank wanted the office back. I wasn't ready to give it to him.

"For a little bit. If you don't mind. There's too much Ranger up on seven. I'm mean. He's here too, but here he's a different Ranger and, at the moment, I can't...I can't handle the man I know upstairs."

I hadn't cried all day and I sure didn't want to cry now, but I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes. I really didn't want Tank to see me cry so, I stared out the window instead of looking at him.

"I promise I won't stay here forever," I said quietly. "We'll see what happens the next couple of days and I'll...I'll sort things out."

Even if - no - when Ranger came home, I couldn't see myself living with him again up on seven like none of this had ever happened. Silently, I contemplated my other housing options. There hadn't been many takers for my old apartment. I knew it was still empty. Or, I could stay with my folks if I had to, although I didn't relish the thought of listening to my mother rail at me day after day about having moved in with an accused murderer rather than marry Joe, that fine, upstanding Trenton police detective. Yeah. Right.

"No! Hell no!" Tank blurted out.

Guess my contemplations hadn't been as silent as I thought.

"The apartments on four are at capacity right now," he said, "but, you can stay in here as long as you need to. For that matter, I can bunk with Bobby for a while if you want to use my place."

Tank was such a good friend. I turned around to tell him. His guard was down. I saw the huge toll the past week had taken on him. His eyes were bleak and weary, his face lined with fatigue, his shoulders heavy with the weight of his responsibilities.

He hadn't taken time to change out of his sharply tailored black suit. Tank was too massive to buy off the rack even at stores advertising for men who were big and tall. It had to be custom made. I wondered what occasion had prompted him to get it. I was sure it wasn't because he planned to wear it to his best friend's funeral.

"Oh Tank," I cried, running to him and wrapping my arms around him as far as they would go. "I'm sorry. I've been so selfish. This is just as hard for you as it is for me."

I took him by surprise. His huge body shuddered in my embrace, his chest heaving with short gasping breaths as he struggled to get his emotions under control. Tank didn't want me to see him cry either. I held him as tightly as I could until his breathing evened out.

He allowed himself a whole thirty seconds and then gave me a squeeze and whispered, "Thank you," letting me know that he had regained his composure.

None too soon.

Lester plowed through the door following one hard knock. He hadn't waited for a response. Hector was right behind him carrying on a cell phone conversation in rapid-fire Spanish.

"What the fuck!" Just like that, Tank was back in the game.

"Hey, Bro, watch your mouth," Lester scolded. "Abuela Manoso is on the phone."

"Abuela Manoso! From Miami! Ah shit, I should have called her. She's got to be really upset."

"She doesn't sound too bad," Lester said. "And, actually, she doesn't want to talk to you. She called to see if she could Skype with Steph."

"Skype! With me?" My voice, I noticed, had gone up at least an octave. "Ranger's grandmother wants to Skype with me?" Almost as strange, "Ranger's grandmother knows how to Skype?"

Lester smiled. "Not really," he told us. "She bullied her neighbor kid, Emilio, into setting her up. That's who Hector's on the line with now. Julie told her about it. Guess Ranger talks to her that way."

"Julie," I cried. "Oh no!"

What did she know about her father's situation? Tank saw the concern on my face at the mention of Ranger's daughter and went completely still.

Finally, thoughtfully, he said, "Julie doesn't know. She, Rachel and Ron are out of the country. I forget where Ranger said they were going, but it was somewhere exotic...somewhere..."

"far away and out of reach," I finished for him.

"Yeah, like that."

We both knew Ranger's protective hand had engineered the vacation's perfect timing and location. For the first time, Tank looked at me like maybe I wasn't crazy for insisting Ranger was still alive. I hoped Tank wasn't seeing how much I wished Ranger had sent me along so I could be dumb, happy and still trusting him. Talk about selfish.

While we'd been discussing Julie, Hector ended his phone call and sat down at Ranger's computer to pull up the necessary software. I jumped when an odd ring signaled an incoming call. I was about to meet the woman who had seen a young Ranger through some difficult years. I was sure she was largely responsible for the man he had become. The man I thought I knew. I was terrified.

"You told me on the way back here this morning that Ranger didn't have any communication with his family," I whispered furiously to Tank. "That's why you were all surprised when Celia showed up at the cemetery."

"Julie and his grandmother are the exceptions to that rule," Lester informed me. "You'll find out when you talk Abuela Manoso that she's pretty hard to deny."

"Thanks, Lester. That makes me feel a whole lot better." Geez!

Hector got up and motioned for me to sit down in front of the monitor. He clicked something and the ringing stopped. The computer screen filled with the young pimply face of a thirteen or fourteen year old boy. The kid backed away, his image replaced by that of a tiny woman sitting ramrod straight in front of the camera. She had on a crisply ironed blue-striped house dress covered with a spotless white apron. Her silver gray hair was piled neatly on the top of her head. Her faced was lined with the care of many years. She had to be eighty or more, but you couldn't tell it from her eyes. They were black and lively and aware. They were a lot like Ranger's.

She stared straight ahead and then looked at the boy. "Where is she, Emilio? I don't see her. I need to see her. That is the point of this, no?"

I had a hint of what Lester was talking about.

The kid moved into sight again. "Hola!" he called. "Hola, Pretty Lady? Where are you? Hector! Open the video, amigo."

Hector muttered something incomprehensible and reached across me to click another button. Immediately, Emilio responded, "Well, hooolaaaaa, Preeeeeety Laaaaady!"

I guessed he was seeing me now.

The boy's head bounced at the sound of a smack from behind.

"Emilio! Don't be nasty," the old woman said. "Mind your manners!"

"Sí, Señora, lo siento," the kid answered backing away and quickly disappearing. Leaving me with Abuela Manoso. Oh no!

She was silent for a long time.

Finally, I couldn't stand it, "Hello," I said softly. Ranger has told me about you. I'm Stephanie Plum."

She studied me a little longer and then said, "Emilio is a fresh boy, but he's right. You are very pretty, but then my Carlos always has had good taste. She stopped, eyes narrowing. "Pierre!," she called out suddenly, "Pierre! Are you there?"

I couldn't suppress my smile at Tank's pained expression when he heard her use his given name. Not many people could call him Pierre and come away unscathed. Abuela Manoso was obviously among the few. He answered with military precision, "Yes Ma'am!" and leaned in beside me so the camera could capture his face. "Hola, Abuela Manoso." If I wasn't mistaken, his voice had gone up an octave too.

"You should have telephoned me, Pierre," the old woman chided him, shaking her finger, "but that's a discussion for another time. For now you boys go someplace else. This conversation is private between Stephanie and me. You understand? Vamoose!"

"Yes Ma'am. Right away. We're gone. Out of here!"

The three men couldn't exit the room fast enough. Leaving me with no backup at all.

Cold sweat. Increased respiration. Rapid heartbeat. Panic attack! I had all the signs.

The old woman's voice went soft and gentle, "Don't be afraid, Meja. You love my Carlos and...he loves you. I'm on your side."

My side? He did? Love me? Was she sure? What was my side?

She leaned closer to the camera like she needed to whisper for privacy even though now we were alone.

"You don't believe that he is dead," she said.

"I...uh...well...uh!" I didn't know what to tell her. Finally, I came up with, "How do you know that?"

She chuckled. "I have ways of finding out."

Celia, I realized. "You sent Celia to the funeral to spy on me!"

She laughed again, seeming pleased that I'd figured out her information network.

"You didn't cry, Meja. Not once. And look at you. The grief of death, Carlos' death, would age you overnight. You are tired, si, but still young. You know he will come back to you."

"What if I'm wrong."

"Have you ever been wrong before?"

"Not about that," I admitted. "There have been other times when they told me he was dead, but I knew he wasn't." I looked her in the eye. "I just knew."

"Aha!" she said "you see? But something about Carlos is troubling you."

Now I couldn't look at her. I dropped my head. How could I tell her that her precious Carlos might love me, but he didn't love me enough to trust me. That I doubted I could ever trust him again.

"Listen to me, Meja," she coaxed. "My Carlos is a hard man to love."

She could say that again.

"For too many years he has relied only on himself. You have to teach him to rely on you as well. If anyone can do this thing,...I believe you can."

"Why didn't Ranger's family come to his funeral? Why only Celia?"

"Bah!" she responded in disgust. "Celia was only there because she is more afraid of me than she is of her father! My son, you see, does not approve of Carlos. The way he lives his life. The man is a fool! Yes, I say that about my own son! He likes to keep everyone strictly under his thumb. Carlos says he stays away because of the danger his work might bring to his family, but that is an excuse. He chooses his battles and he chooses not to continuously fight with his father. It breaks his mother's heart, but she is tied to her husband. I thank God she had enough backbone to send Carlos to me when he got in trouble as a teenager."

"I think," I said quietly, "that Ranger was a very lucky boy."

"I think," she said in turn, "that he is a very lucky man. Just know my Carlos doesn't love you for your beauty alone. He loves your kindness, your understanding and your passion. Most of all he loves you for accepting him as the man he is. Don't ever forget that," she said. "If nothing else, don't forget that."

Accepting him as the man he is. Something to think about.

"Now," the old woman said with a wicked gleam in her eye, "get me Pierre. I need to have words with him."

Did Ranger have any clue his grandma should be licensed as a lethal weapon?

#####

I came to slowly, keeping my eyes closed while I attempted to assess my surroundings. Hard to say where I was. It didn't smell like the jail. I hurt too much to be dead, although, maybe I was since Hell and its tortures was likely my final destination.

"Hey! Dolan! Get in here. Looks like he's comin' around. Gotta say he don't look bad for a dead guy."

Clyde. Harry. Must be some kind of safe house.

I opened my eyes. "Guess I have to..." Had to stop, cough. My mouth was dry as dust. Somebody hit it with a straw. Water. Better. I started over. "Guess I have to thank you, Clyde, for gettin' me out in one piece...more or less."

"Hey, that's why I was there."

"Doesn't mean you're not a prick."

He laughed. "I'll take that as a compliment," he said.

"Well, well, well. Look who's back." Harry Dolan strolled into the room.

"I tell you, Ranger, you're more talented than I thought. Not many men manage to miss their own funeral. No worries though. We got it all on tape."

On tape. I felt a chill go down my back as I thought about watching myself being laid to rest. And another as I recalled Cain's sad-eyed face and sorrowful apology as he ripped the shiv into my gut.

TBC

Now tell me. You didn't really think I could kill Ranger did you?


	17. Chapter 17

Not my characters (except for the ones you don't recognize, they belong to me), they belong to Janet Evanovich, but as long as Ranger can come out and play I can live with that.

Please. Don't throw things. I know. It's been a long time since the last update. A very long time. I have tons of excuses but you don't want to hear them so I'll spare you and instead just thank you for your patience. Thank you also to readers who voted this story into the #2 slot in the 2010 Countdown. I was thrilled beyond words! What a way to start the new year! Anyway, finally, here is Chapter 17. I hope it was worth the wait. I'll try to do better. I will.

Forgive Tank for his language. He has a lot on his mind. And, if you can find it in your heart, forgive Joe too. He just can't help being a jerk.

**The Right To Remain Silent**

**by**

**SueB**

**Chapter 17**

_Whoosh._

A single sheet of paper whispered across the table where I sat re-reading the case files on Harry Dolan's murdered operatives. There had been an addition since I'd last seen them. They now included a dossier on me. Harry was nothing if not thorough.

A touch of my finger halted the paper's progress. It skittered to a stop, stark and white against the dark polished surface.

On it were three lines of print.

Three names.

The first two belonged to gang bangers, members of Shakir Wilson's inner circle. Number three was Cain's.

It was the information we had worked for. The lead I had 'died' to obtain. If all went well, my career as a contract soldier would be over and I'd be resurrected in the private sector. Free to make a life with Stephanie.

_Only if she'll have you after this. Only if she'll have you._

I put that thought away. There was business to finish.

I'd been expecting Harry but, it was Clyde who stood on the other side of the table.

"Granted bail," he grunted indicating his offering. "These three bein' released. Tomorrow."

I glanced at the list. Gave nothing away. So far I hadn't revealed the identity of my attacker, blaming my ignorance on steam, shock, soap in my eyes.

"Think maybe you'd be able to recognize one of 'em if he had a shiv in his hand?" Clyde goaded.

"Where's Dolan?" I asked, ignoring his gibe. For reasons I couldn't explain, even to myself, I still wasn't ready to reveal Cain's name.

"Settin' up the video. Sent me to get you."

"He seen this?" I asked, studying the paper.

"He got a copy." Clyde stopped, letting silence fill the space between us. It felt like a meaningful silence but, I didn't understand why until he continued.

"Yesterday...yesterday mornin'."

I'd been conscious and alert yesterday morning.

"And didn't share it with me until now?" _Why would that be?_

Clyde's gaze went from the paper to my eyes. "He still ain't shared it with you," he said pointedly. "Or with me either," he added. "I just kinda helped myself."

Alarm bells went off in my head.

Clyde turned to go before I could manage a response. "Better hurry up," he tossed over his shoulder. "Dolan's got a real bug up his ass 'bout you watchin' your funeral."

He added a nasty grin to his departure. "It's somethin' to see, Manoso. Had no idea you were such a popular guy."

Neither did I.

#####

"You might want to get your big black ass out here."

Santos stood in the doorway of my office

"Fuck off."

He didn't move.

Since Lester was apparently too dumb to get it the first time, I flipped him some appropriate sign language emphasizing exactly how I felt about his intrusion on the first quiet time I'd had to work since Ranger's arrest. I was buried in paper. Ranger might or might not be dead but, either way, if RangeMan was going to survive, I had to take care of some business.

"So you want Hal an' me to handle Morelli then?"

Crap! Morelli?

I swiped a hand across my face. He had my attention. "You gonna tell me what the hell you're talkin' about?"

"Cop's on his way up."

"To the 5th Floor? Right now?"

"I'm told."

By Ranger's decree, the RangeMan corporate manual stipulated that Morelli didn't get past the lobby unless he had a warrant and even that scenario was subject to review.

"Whoever the fuck's on the front desk just got his ass fired."

"Easy, man."

"No, not easy! Where's Steph? She's been through enough lately without having to deal with that asshole. And here is the last place she should have to face him."

What I said was true as far as it went. What I didn't voice was my fear that Steph's certainty Ranger was alive would be written all over her face.

_"Ya know, Cupcake, you don't look half bad for a woman on the edge of despair."_

Too late. I could hear him all the way down the hall. Shit! So much for wondering where Steph was.

Santos looked at me as I pushed out of my chair. "Like I said, you might want to get your big black ass out here."

Damn it! I hate it when he's right. I headed toward the action but wasn't in time for the next round.

The cop went straight for the jugular, his words sticky with sarcasm.

_"I'd offer my condolences if I thought for one second Manoso was actually dead."_

I prayed Steph could keep it together. I got close enough for eye contact just as she answered.

_"Joe, please don't..." _

Her voice was shaky, stricken. Her face heavy with grief. She was perfect.

I couldn't have been prouder.

But, Morelli still wasn't buying.

_"Where is the son-of-a-bitch? He stashed in your bed, Cupcake?"_

He was an even bigger asshole than I thought.

#####

When I entered the room, Dolan already had one hand on the light switch and the other on a remote control. A large flat panel screen hung on the opposite wall.

Logic dictated that the person we were seeking would attend my funeral. He'd want to be certain I was in the ground before fulfilling any promises made to my attacker.

Clyde was right about two things. Harry was in an all-fired hurry and the funeral was something to see.

As the footage rolled he said, "Kinda makes ya wonder who's mindin' the store don't it?"

The businessman in me agreed. What looked like the company's entire fleet, black and shiny, lined the serpentine lane surrounding the cemetery.

With the exception of my closest associates who'd dressed formally, the men wore their usual uniforms, the signature black defining them as RangeMan employees. I appreciated the solidarity. What surprised me were their expressions of sadness. Probably they thought their jobs were in jeopardy.

Soon after the last man cleared the cemetery gates, the group moved as one to form a living wall barring the media gathered in the roadway. They followed the instructions I had left behind to the letter. A couple of photographers attempted to elude them. Those mothers would be feeling their mistake for several days to come.

From where he sat beside me Clyde murmured, "Your orders?"

I answered him with a short nod, keeping my eyes on the screen.

"Not easy to command from the grave," he commented softly.

I glanced at him and saw no mockery as he said, "Well done."

A tightness gripped my chest as I realized it wasn't unemployment that concerned these grave hard-eyed men. They were displaying their respect by doing what they did best. Maybe I should have been prepared for their loyalty but, I wasn't. My men. I swallowed the emotion.

Watching didn't get easier when the camera shifted to the front lines. Hal, Junior, Cal, Bobby, Lester. My colleagues.

Celia. My sister. She would face my father's wrath for attending. There were miles of fence to mend if I ever expected to reconnect with my family.

Tank. My comrade, my partner, my...friend. His face clearly reflected the burden I had placed on him. He'd been angry when he came to see me at the jail, as angry as I'd ever seen him. How badly had I damaged our alliance?

And Stephanie. She was the most difficult of all for me to watch. She knelt down letting a rose fall on my remains, her lips moving in a silent...what? Prayer? Curse? She left the graveside somber and dry-eyed. Was her composure due to a belief I was still alive or, because it no longer mattered to her one way or the other?

"Ranger! Manoso! Anything? Need to run it again?"

Harry's sharp voice cut into my contemplation. I looked at him and learned. He wasn't watching the footage; he was watching me. He was watching me watching her.

I went on the attack. "Waste of time, Harry. There's nothing out of the ordinary. Besides, with all the media attention why would our man show himself when he could verify my death just as easily sitting in some comfy hotel room?"

While Dolan busied himself with the video equipment, I plunged into deeper waters.

"Any word from the jail? Men being released?"

He turned around to look at me. "It might help if you had some idea of who tried to kill you."

"So nothing? No word? No one granted bail?"

I kept my face carefully blank while Harry Dolan, my contract handler for more years than I wanted to remember, looked me in the eye...and lied through his teeth.

"No," he said. "Nothing. Nothing yet."

TBC


	18. Chapter 18

Not my characters (except for the ones you don't recognize, they belong to me), they belong to Janet Evanovich, but as long as Ranger can come out and play I can live with that.

Just so you know, Tank's language hasn't gotten any better and Joe is still up to his old tricks. I got this chapter written faster though. :)

**The Right To Remain Silent**

**by**

**SueB**

**Chapter 18**

"You holdin' paper, Morelli?"

The cop had been too focused on hounding Steph to hear me come up behind him. In combat, he'd be dead.

"'Cause if ya are, I want to see it. Now."

Considering all 300 plus pounds of me was in his face when he turned around, Morelli recovered reasonably well.

"Your man downstairs didn't have a problem with my credentials."

"Rookie mistake. Believe me, it won't happen again."

I smiled but it wasn't friendly.

"I'm no rookie. Flash of your badge and a glimpse of some judge's name on the corner of a piece of paper doesn't cut it with me."

I held out my hand for the warrant I knew he didn't have.

The cop's smile wasn't friendly either.

"Hey, just here payin' my respects."

"Yeah? That so? 'Cause what I heard didn't sound much like respect."

Smug bastard. I wanted to knock him on his ass.

Steph stood her ground but, even from a distance, I could see her trembling.

The same section of the RangeMan corporate manual that banned Morelli from the upper floors of Haywood also contained extensive instructions concerning Stephanie Plum. What those instructions boiled down to were: provide her with whatever she needs even though she isn't likely to ask for it and keep her safe at all costs.

Boss's orders. The men followed them without question. But those of us who were as close to Ranger as he allowed anyone to get speculated behind his back. Wondering why this little white girl from the 'burg had him pouring money, manpower and material into what, given her propensity for disaster, seemed like a bottomless black pit.

Then we got to know her. Saw her determination and her courage. Experienced her humor and compassion. Realized she cared for us and accepted us just the way we were. That these qualities came in one beautiful sexy package was an incredible bonus.

It didn't take long for all of RangeMan to get what Ranger recognized from the start. She made our world better. She made us better. He had staked his claim but every one of us fell a little bit in love. Ranger's promise of dire consequences if we failed to take care of her wasn't necessary. With or without his orders, we would guard her with our lives.

Surrounded by men pledged to her well-being, she should have felt secure even in Morelli's presence. She didn't. I could tell.

And it made me want to hit someone in addition to Morelli. Too bad he was dead.

Allegedly.

The cop took a step back when my hands fisted at my sides but now my anger wasn't aimed at him. Ranger owned it. I hoped he was alive, not for Steph's sake, but because I wanted to pound him into the ground.

Damn him!

I hated what he'd done to her. I knew why he'd held back. I understood that. His work was dirty, dangerous. Unfortunately, with no clear sign from Ranger and pressure from her mother, Steph turned to Morelli over and over again even though he treated her like shit. What I didn't understand was why Ranger had finally embraced her and brought her to Haywood when his situation hadn't changed. If anything his new contract set him on darker paths than before.

Maybe that explained why he would cut a deal with Harry Dolan no matter the risk. Hard to pass up the chance for freedom...to live...to love. I could almost hear him saying 'No risk. No reward.'

Bitter knowledge hit me hard. In all this I'd been Ranger's willing accomplice. Without Lester and Bobby's insistence I would never have told Steph about Ranger's mission and I still sidestepped her most important question...why he had taken it on.

His actions ensured Steph was physically safe but, keeping her in the dark had left her emotionally fragile.

No more.

"Tank?"

Steph's voice quavered slightly as she called for my attention. Probably thought from the look on my face that I was about to murder one of Trenton's finest.

Little did she know.

Several of the men on duty filtered into the hall. Ready to close ranks if need be.

Now seemed like a good time.

I looked to Morelli. "You better go, Cop. I think RangeMan hospitality is about to run dry. Cal. Junior. Show Detective Morelli the door...and make sure he uses it."

#####

"You okay?"

Clyde's voice.

I was still sitting in the room where we'd watched the footage from the cemetery. Head back against the chair. Eyes closed.

Weary.

Bone weary.

Soul weary.

"Ranger?"

I opened my eyes to see Clyde looking genuinely concerned.

Okay? Let's see.

I'd been arrested. Beaten. Jailed. Stabbed. Buried by my men and my Babe.

Unless my instincts were way off base, Harry Dolan had a completely different agenda from the one he initially presented to me and likely wanted me dead. That fact called my life's work into question. Why he hadn't killed me already was a puzzle I needed to solve if I wanted to keep breathing.

I had no idea if I could trust Clyde.

Hell of a week.

"Yeah. Fine."

"Hurtin'? Want something for it?"

"No." The last thing I needed was medication clouding my judgment. I could handle the pain. It would keep me sharp.

"Harry's gone. Said he'd be back in an hour or so."

Interesting he shared that bit of info. "All right."

I resumed my position without any further offer of conversation. I heard Clyde rearrange a chair and shut the door as he left.

When I looked again. There was a cell phone lying on the table.

Without access to any testing equipment, I couldn't be sure the phone wasn't bugged. I checked out what I could manually and decided to chance it. What other choice did I have?

I punched in Tank's number. Let it ring three times and disconnected.

It was a code he and I had put in place years ago to make contact if one of us was off the grid. Uncomplicated and innocuous. Simply put it meant - Call me at this number ASAP. I need you.

Closing my eyes again, I sat back. Waiting.

#####

As I shifted to allow Cal and Junior a free path to the elevator with their charge, my cell phone rang.

Once. Twice. Three times. Then silence.

The cop stopped and turned around. He stared at the phone hooked to my belt and then at my face.

"You weren't gonna get that?" he asked, suspicious.

Without breaking eye contact, I reached for the phone and then looked at the last call. No one I recognized. Shrugged.

"Wrong number."

Morelli wasn't done with his harassment. "Listen to me. I find out you're harboring a fugitive, I'll put RangeMan out of business," he threatened, "and I'll see every one of you behind bars." He lifted his chin in Steph's direction. "Including her."

"Get the fuck out of here before I lose my temper, Morelli."

"Sure."

He couldn't resist one last shot at Steph.

"Be seein' ya...Cupcake."

Cal gave him an encouraging shove in the right direction.

I turned to reassure Steph but Lester and Bobby already had her covered.

Just as well. I grabbed my cell and headed for some privacy. I was ninety-nine point nine percent certain the phone call had been Ranger.

#####

Waiting. But not long.

I picked up on the first ring.

"I need back-up."

"You goddamn arrogant, stubborn, son-of-a-bitch. Ya think?"

It was good to hear a friendly voice.

TBC


	19. Chapter 19

Not my characters (except for the ones you don't recognize, they belong to me), they belong to Janet Evanovich, but as long as Ranger can come out and play I can live with that.

Warning: Tank's still having a little problem with his mouth.

**The Right To Remain Silent**

**by**

**SueB**

**Chapter 19**

"You got that off your chest? Cause if there's a bug too far up your ass for you to be useful, put someone on the phone who can follow orders."

It was a nasty shot.

Whoever said the best defense is a good offense probably didn't have a lot of friends but my immediate need was for soldiers not amigos.

Tank cared about me. Too much. More than I deserved.

He blew out a heavy snort. Like an angry bull. I envisioned his wiping one huge hand across that shiny bald head of his. Getting a hold of himself.

My throat tightened on a wave of emotion. Unexpected. Unfamiliar. I owed him my life several times over as he did me. Tank was more than a friend. I loved him like a brother but, he probably didn't know that. I'd certainly never said it out loud.

"You can rip me a new one later," I promised him in an easier tone. "At the moment, I don't have the time."

I tried to stay patient while he sorted things out.

Finally, his gruff voice broke the silence. "Whadda ya need?"

Terse. Still not happy. But Tank had my back. My relief was palpable. Solid enough to touch. I forged ahead.

"Three men have been granted bail. County's releasing them tomorrow."

"Plan worked then. One of 'em's the guy? The one who attacked you?"

Worked? I thought about it. I suppose it had.

"Worked, yeah. Results are questionable though."

"Why's that?"

"I'm out of the loop. Dolan hasn't told me."

I let Tank draw his own conclusions. He's a quick study. Didn't take him long.

"You're fucked."

"Looks like."

"Got a new plan?"

"I want you and a couple of men to grab my assailant and whoever it is he meets. I want it to happen before either one of them gets dead.

"All right. Then what?"

"Detain them at Haywood until I can get there to ask some questions."

Tank knew what I meant. Haywood had a secure underground level unknown to all but a few.

"An' Dolan ain't gonna' notice when we snatch these guys right under his nose?"

"Leave Dolan to me. He won't be a problem."

"Yeah. How come?"

"Because of the three men being released he doesn't know which one to follow and the one you're gonna grab isn't the logical choice."

Tank did a long slow whistle in understanding.

"You haven't told him who stuck you."

"That's right." I hated to admit it. "Think that's the only reason I'm alive," I said. "He still needs me. I'm not sure why."

Tank digested my revelation and then asked, "Where's Solokov fit in all of this?"

Solokov? Solokov was dead.

"What do you mean?"

"What do I mean?" his voice rose. "Solokov! Marcus Solokov! What about..."

He caught himself mid rant.

"Ah shit," he muttered, "Dolan didn't tell you that either did he?"

"Tell me what?" I asked but, before he could answer, puzzle pieces began shifting in my head. I knew what he was going to say.

"Solokov's alive isn't he?"

"And well from all indications," Tank replied.

Several of those puzzle pieces locked into place.

"Chechnya," I murmured.

"Huh?"

"I was supposed to die in Chechnya."

"Rangeman, you lost me."

"My last mission...before I re-upped. I was following illegal weapons being moved by the Chechen mafia."

I paused. I'd never revealed how close I'd been to not coming back from that mission. Once I learned Steph had chosen the cop it hadn't mattered, nothing had mattered...not to me.

"What happened, Rangeman?" Tank asked gently.

"When the earthquake hit, I was on my knees with a gun at my head."

"Jesus!"

"They knew exactly who I was and why I was there."

"You think it was Solokov?"

"It makes sense. He'd never been involved but he had ties to the Chechen mob through his mother's family. That's why Harry recruited him. The thing is, I knew Marcus; he didn't know me.

I had to stop. Speaking the next words would make them all too true. Tank saved me the pain.

"He had help. Dolan ID'd you. Ordered the kill."

I struggled to keep the strain out of my voice.

"He's the only possibility."

Tank waited a beat and then offered, "I'm sorry, Rangeman. Damn sorry."

"Me too," I said, "but not half as sorry as Harry's gonna be."

"Why would he do it?"

Excellent question. One I'd probably be better equipped to answer once my hands were wrapped around Dolan's throat. My mind spun with possibilities.

"I don't have the 'why'...yet," I allowed. "But try this out for 'how'. You read the file. Dolan maintained Solokov had been off the roster for a while. Burned out. Not quite right. Let's assume Marcus flew beneath the radar not because he was washed up but because he decided to join the family business."

"The Chechen Mob."

"They've been moving weapons for years. Lots of money in it."

"Dolan found out and wanted in?" Tank speculated. "For the money?"

"Yeah," I said, "maybe he screwed up. Didn't save for retirement."

Of course, if I had my way, Harry wouldn't need to worry about retiring.

"Then how come Dolan sent you to Chechnya to investigate?"

"Think about it. I'm his best operative. If he gives me up to Solokov, the man most likely to bring them down dies and the mob gets a token of his good faith."

"Win, win."

"Exactly."

"Only it didn't happen."

"No. It didn't."

Although when I came back and found Steph tight with Morelli I'd wished it had.

"Guess it wasn't my time," I said quietly.

Tank's voice was fierce. "Still isn't," he said.

He made me smile. Probably wanted to kill me himself. Hard to blame him.

He went on, "What I don't get is why the elaborate plan to draw you in now. Can't tell me Dolan couldn't have arranged to off you in some less conspicuous corner of the world."

He was right. Since Chechnya I'd been in half a dozen little hell holes where things easily could have gone bad. I had another theory.

"What if the dynamic changed when their plans for me went south? Maybe the Chechen crew decided doing business with Harry was too risky. Maybe he got cold feet."

Tank's come back reflected his disgust, "Dolan's a piece of shit. Don't go makin' excuses for him."

"Not my intention. Whether he backed out or his new business partners booted him, either way Harry wants me dead.

"You tellin' me Dolan killed his own agents to get you back into the game?"

"No, my instincts say that was Solokov's work. Payback for the busted deal. Expect I was next on the list to be followed by Harry himself. Dolan appropriated the MO because now he wants to eliminate Solokov. He used me to find him and I let myself get sucked right in."

Tank didn't say a word. We both knew why I'd been easy to convince. Selfishness, pure and simple. Oh I'd felt an obligation to my dead colleagues but, the opportunity to secure release from my high-risk contract was the primary factor.

When Tank realized I wasn't going to elaborate further on that subject he asked, "So, tomorrow. How's it goin' down?"

"Think it's safe to say my attacker will be meeting up with Solokov who plans to hand out a bullet instead of whatever reward he promised for taking me out."

"Sounds right."

"Two of the men being released are Shakir Wilson's boys."

"Big surprise," Tank interrupted. "Any reason we can't let Solokov handle those low-lifes?"

"Plenty of reason."

"Like what?"

"They're not involved."

Tank's frustration mounted. "Shit, Rangeman! Who the hell's our guy?" he spit out.

"Name's Jeffords. Cain Jeffords."

"Okay. Identifying characteristics?"

I almost laughed. "Identification shouldn't be an issue."

Tank didn't understand. "Because...?"

"He'll be the one about seventy years old."

Dead silence.

"Tank?"

"You're tellin' me the guy who got the drop on you is seventy years..."

"Story'll have to wait," I broke in. No telling how much time I had before Harry returned, or Clyde either for that matter. "Jeffords is homeless. Solokov might decide to pick him up but, chances are Cain'll be on foot for at least a couple of blocks. Timing's critical. I want them both and I want them alive. And, Tank,"

"Yeah."

"Keep them under under wraps at Haywood but, unlike Solokov, Cain's a guest, not a prisoner. Understand?"

"Sure, you want us to treat the man who stuck a shiv in your gut and left you to die like he's your long lost Cuban uncle. Do I have it right?"

Sarcastic. Humoring me.

"That gonna be to be a problem?" I said, leaning hard, wanting to know.

He sighed. "No more than any of the rest of this," he answered under his breath.

"Tank, it's all finally making some sense. Solokov was the key. I shouldn't have missed it. Good work flushing him out."

"Yeah, well, don't thank me. Thank Steph. She's the one stayed up three nights in a row and was smart enough to run him down."

My anger flared. "She wasn't to be part of this," I ground out. "Thought you understood that."

"Yeah, At first I understood all right but, Lester and Bobby sure didn't see it that way and, trust me, Morelli missed the memo altogether. He filled her in on quite a few things that you left out? Made her feel like shit. Kinda hard to keep her in the dark after that."

He revved up again. "An' by the way. She no more believes you're dead than pigs can fly. If someone was that tuned in to me, don't think I'd be holdin' out on her. Somethin' to keep in mind the next time...if there is a next time."

He stopped for a breath. Was only slightly less angry when he went on.

"Couple other things you oughta be aware of. We made contact with Dolan after you'd been reported dead. Gave him the info we had on Solokov. Looks like none of it was news to him. Point is, he knows that we know and he was clearly interested it was Steph who'd made the discovery."

Damn! It made me more than nervous for Steph's name to surface in Harry's world.

"And the other thing?"

"When you called, the cop was standing right in front of me. Suspicious as hell and makin' threats."

"Steph?"

"Was there. Managed like a pro."

My Babe...never disappoints.

Tank continued, "Morelli may be the one man who wants you dead more than Dolan does."

"He'll have to get in line. First things first. Dolan's my priority."

"What are you going to do about him?" Tank asked. "You have a way out of there?"

"Still working on that," I answered.

"That's what I was afraid of." He paused then asked, "How badly are you hurt? Can you manage activity? What's your status physically?"

"Nothing I can't handle." Hell, no problems except the jack-hammer in my head, the ribs screaming with every deep breath and the devil's own fist clenched in my abdomen. "I'll live."

"Good to hear, Rangeman," Tank rumbled, soft and deep.

I would have been touched by his concern if I hadn't once heard him use that voice on a member of the Medellin Cartel...right before he slit the man's throat.

"Cause, me and you, Rangeman...we're not finished."

"I know, Tank," I said. "I know."

"One more thing."

"Yeah."

"I'm gonna tell her."

"Tank...No. I don't think that's a good..."

The phone went dead as he disconnected.

#####

The door behind me opened. My phone snapped shut.

I turned around.

"Tell me what?" Steph demanded.

TBC


	20. Chapter 20

Not my characters (except for the ones you don't recognize, they belong to me), they belong to Janet Evanovich, but as long as Ranger can come out and play I can live with that.

I know. I know. It's been a month. Okay, it's been a little more than a month. I hope it was worth the wait. Thanks for hanging on.

**The Right To Remain Silent**

**by**

**SueB**

**Chapter 20**

"Tell me what?" Steph repeated.

How much had she heard?

When I didn't immediately respond she spit out, "Tank! What?"

My gut resolve that she deserved to know everything suddenly warred with my long-time habit of abiding by Ranger's wishes.

Blue eyes fixed on me. Huge. Haunted. Unrelenting.

Gut won. Screw Ranger's wishes.

"You were right."

It only took a second for relief to chase understanding across her face along with what looked like a large helping of 'I-told-you-so' but, her voice splintered as she said.

"Ranger's alive."

I nodded in confirmation.

She didn't want to cry. Not in front of me. But when two deep breaths couldn't stop it, she dropped her head and covered her face. Her body shivered with quiet sobs.

Without a word, I took her in my arms. Holding her tight, the same way she'd held me after Ranger's funeral. It was all I knew to do.

She pushed away when she was ready, her back straightening with steely determination.

I almost laughed out loud when she produced a decidedly unladylike sniff, wiped her sleeve across her eyes and nose and said, "Damn him. Where the hell is he and when's he coming home?"

She looked at me like I was supposed to know.

Shit!

I was supposed to know. She expected me to know. Only I'd hung up on him, too involved in being a self-righteous horse's ass to get the pertinent information that might help save his life.

Her jaw dropped in disbelief when my silence spoke volumes.

"Oh my God! You really don't know where he is do you?" she said.

I made excuses.

"Not sure he knows. Wasn't the first thing on his mind. He didn't have much time."

Wouldn't ya know. She picked up on the 'not much time' part and jumped to her own conclusions. Her brow furrowed with concern.

"He's hurt. Seriously hurt."

"No. He says 'No'."

"You believe him?"

Smart woman. Anybody's guess. I'd once seen Ranger successfully complete a mission with a broken hand and a bullet in his shoulder. I shrugged. "Not entirely."

"Tank, how can we help him if we don't know where he is? Call him back," she pressed. "Call him back right now."

"I can't do that," I replied, knowing she wasn't going to understand.

"Sure you can," she insisted. "It's easy."

She eyed the phone in my hand, lunged for it and crashed into the wall of my chest when I raised my arm above my head.

"Hit redial," she demanded. "Just hit redial."

"It's not that simple," I told her, using my free hand to capture her when she tried to scale me like a mountain.

She struggled, saying, "Why, Tank. Why isn't it that simple.?"

Finally she stilled. Her gaze switched from the phone, effectively out of her reach, to my face and I knew why Ranger kept things from her. Why he didn't tell her everything. He never wanted to see that pain in her eyes and know he'd been the cause of it. Too bad he didn't get that not telling her resulted in damage just same. Maybe worse damage.

I tried to explain.

"Ranger's call was one of opportunity. I can't call him back because I don't know if that window is still open."

"Why does it matter? He's with the good guys now. Right?"

Again I was silent.

"Tank?" Her voice went up a notch. "He is with the good guys isn't he?"

This time I was unable to confirm. I shook my head.

"No! What do you mean, no? I don't understand."

Crap. Here it was, a full blown test of my decision to disclose.

"Steph," I said on a deep breath, "Harry Dolan's dirty."

I watched her process this latest information, afraid she might completely lose it.

Instead she demanded, "Then how come Ranger isn't dead already?"

"It's a long story," I replied.

"I have time," she responded. "Tell me. Tell me now."

#####

The cell phone lay on the table precisely where I had left it fifteen minutes before. Like it hadn't been touched. Manoso looked like he hadn't moved either. Head back. Eyes closed. One leg stretched out in front of him.

A casual observer might have thought he was relaxed, asleep even. I knew differently. He was about as relaxed as a cornered adder. The man was pure energy, sharpened by pain. Sharp was good. I wanted him sharp.

He spoke first. Knew I was there even with his eyes closed. No surprise.

"You forget something?"

I parked my butt against the table, laid a sheet of paper next to the phone and waited. When he finally looked at me I smiled, abandoning all traces of my rough-edged 'Clyde' persona.

"No."

He studied me with the famous Manoso blank face firmly in place. Considered. I was going to be hugely disappointed if he missed the change in my character.

He didn't disappoint. It wasn't long before he asked.

"What's your real name?"

No reason not to tell him. My need for cover, at least with him, was over. "Evanston Whitehall. Evan for short."

He snorted, not the first person to be amused by the dichotomy between my blue blood name and my skill at projecting a blue-collar aura.

"Bet you're smart too," he said.

"Top of my class. Columbia."

"Major in drama?"

What a kidder.

"Foreign affairs."

"Same difference," he told me, deadpan.

Given the circumstances, you had to appreciate the man's sense of humor.

I picked up the phone. "Make your call?" I inquired.

"You know I did. Why ask?"

"Maybe I need details."

His turn to smile. "Since I've been less than cooperative?"

When I lifted a non-committal shoulder, he went on.

"Before you carry out your orders."

"Orders?"

"As my executioner."

"That what you think? I'm your executioner?"

"Considered the possibility."

"Have others? Possibilities I mean." I was being an asshole. But, he wasn't giving me anything except frustration.

His eyes narrowed, black and piercing.

"How long?" he asked.

I could hold my own, but no wonder lesser men collapsed under that scrutiny.

"How long?" I repeated his question pretending I didn't understand, knowing it would piss him off but, making him spell it out anyway.

He emphasized each word.

"How long have you known Harry Dolan was working the other side?"

"Show me yours; I'll show you mine," I offered.

His voice went soft and deep. "Don't fuck with me...any more...Evan."

He didn't actually move but, I saw his body harden into a mass of deadly menace. He was good, I'd give him that. Maybe I'd pushed him far enough.

I yielded for the moment. "All right, all right. There were suspicions not long after Marcus Solokov slipped off the radar a couple of years ago."

He broke in. "Suspicions confirmed when Dolan sold me out in Chechnya."

"Correct."

"And no one thought I might need that information especially after Harry pulled me into this charade?"

He hadn't exactly been dragged in kicking and screaming. I knew about Manoso's little deal with Dolan. Freedom from his long-term contract in exchange for his help but, it wasn't knowledge that I planned to share. At least not yet.

"Consensus at the time was you might be dirty too."

Questioning his loyalty didn't sit well.

"They were going to put a bullet in my head. I was finger on the trigger away from dying."

"But you didn't."

"Only because there was a goddamn earthquake! FYI, much as I might like to have that kind of power, so far I haven't even managed a crack in the sidewalk."

"I'll pass that along. In the meantime suppose you tell me who it was took you down in the shower."

"Assuming I know, what's to keep me from leaving here in a body bag once I give you a name?"

"You must trust me some."

He raised an eyebrow. "How's that?"

"Used the phone I left you."

"It was a crap shoot. What choice did I have?"

"I've read your dossier, Manoso. You haven't stayed alive all these years by playing the long odds."

Something flickered in his eyes as he said quietly, "Lot of blood in that file." It was the only sign of uncertainty I'd seen in him throughout the week's ordeal.

It hit me. That was it. His anger about being uninformed on Dolan was nothing compared to his fear that as a result he'd acted unjustly at Dolan's command. God, a mercenary with a conscience. I could work with that. I had the knowledge to put his mind at rest. At least as much rest as a man who regularly killed for a living could expect to have. I could earn his trust.

He quickly stomped on any emotion. Shutting it down as fast as it had appeared. But, I knew he was silently cursing at how much he'd revealed. That kind of miniscule slip could fuck up a mission, get you killed. Get others killed. Maybe he should retire. But, I had orders, the brass didn't see it that way.

"Ranger."

Nothing showed on his face now but purpose and resolve.

"Your file."

No response other than a hard-eyed stare.

"Righteous kills. Every one."

His next words were hardly an acknowledgment my information had made a difference to him but, they were all I was going to get.

"You have a plan for persuading Dolan to clue us in on tomorrow's prisoner release?"

I picked up the paper I'd put on the table, handed it to him. "Thought we'd use this."

He read. Smiled at the simplicity of it.

"This just in? While Harry was out doing whatever?"

"That's right."

The paper displayed three names exactly like the one I had shown him earlier. The one Dolan had received the day before and kept to himself. There was one difference. The fax info on this one was dated today and from all appearances it had arrived not twenty minutes ago.

"So," I asked, "which one of them..."

We both heard a door closing in the reaches of the house.

Ranger smiled again. Shit!

Seamlessly, I slid back into Clyde's skin. I've had years of practice.

"Hey! Dolan!" I yelled. "Come 'er! Lookie what we got! Paydirt!"

#####

"Steph. Come on. Sit down."

She shook her head. Having none of it. Crossed her arms.

"Talk."

So I did. Told her everything I knew. When I was done, we called in Bobby, Lester, Cal, Junior and Hal and I told it all again. We planned strategy and take-down procedures. We discussed timing, weaponry and possible FUBARS. We were done. We were ready. Come this time tomorrow Marcus Solokov and Cain Jeffords would be residents in our facility. One comfortable. One, not so much.

As for Ranger, we had to assume he knew what he was doing. Could take care of himself. Wasn't like he hadn't done it before.

"Okay, guys," I said, "that's it for now. Release is scheduled for 0900. I want us geared up and in place by 0700. Questions?"

Steph sat listening through it all.

"You forgot one thing."

That didn't sound like a question to me.

"I'm coming with you."

"No, Steph. I don't think...that's not a"

"You either take me along or I show up on my own. Non-negotiable, Tank. Which would you prefer?"

Now that was a question. One I'd rather not answer.

"Jeez," Santos chimed in, "she sounds just like Ranger."

Damned if she didn't. We started over.

#####

"Christ, Ranger. Focus! Don't you recognize any of these names?"

On top of being less than overjoyed that he'd returned to find Manoso and me in possession of the release list, Harry Dolan was having trouble containing his exasperation.

He thought he was exasperated. I had been seconds away from getting the name. I was sure of it.

Manoso was playing his role to perfection.

"Harry, of course I recognize them," he said. "The first two are Shakir Wilson's boys."

"Likely candidates, right?" Dolan interrupted.

"Sure. But Shakir would want to do it himself and, trust me, he wouldn't need any incentive."

"What about Jeffords then?"

"Have you seen Jeffords, Harry?"

Dolan shook his head.

"He's about seventy years old."

"It has to be one of them!"

"I know," Manoso agreed wiping a hand across his face. Grimacing like he had the world's biggest headache. "but, I don't know which one."

And he said I was the drama major.

"Maybe, we jus show up in the mornin'," I threw out. "Ain't you the one, Manoso, always preachin' 'bout bein' aware of your surroundings. Maybe, whadda ya call it, 'physical proximity' will shake somethin' loose."

Dolan objected, "No, no. Too risky. You might be seen."

But, Manoso jumped right in, "Clyde's right. I have to be there. See each man for myself."

I manufactured a giant belch. "Ehh! Meatball sub. It's killin' me," I complained. "Ya need me I'll be in the john."

I left the two of them to wrangle over details.

The meatball sub wasn't the only thing killing me. At this point there was no way Manoso would give up a name before morning. Dolan's untimely arrival had fucked that up. No matter. There was more than one level to my assignment. I could live without getting to Solokov first.

I stepped into the bathroom. Turned on the water to mask my activity. I'd already swept for bugs anticipating an emergency. I punched a number I had memorized into the cell phone I'd retrieved from Manoso. A whiny high-pitched female voice answered.

"Trenton Police Department. How can I direct your call?"

"Detective Joseph Morelli, please."

TBC


	21. Chapter 21

Not my characters, they belong to Janet Evanovich, but as long as Ranger can come out and play I can live with that.

I bet you thought this chapter was never going to show up. Don't feel bad. There have been plenty of days when that's what I thought too. You see the bad guys were not cooperating. Then again, I guess that's what bad guys do. Not cooperate. Ranger finally helped me haul them into line. I owe him. Big time. Thanks for being so incredibly patient. This was a long stretch - even for me. :)

**The Right To Remain Silent**

**by**

**SueB**

**Chapter 21**

"You're driving."

Harry Dolan flipped me a set of car keys as we stood in the foyer of the safe house and motioned toward a late model SUV parked at the curb.

"That wasn't the plan."

After his bout of gastric distress the day before, Clyde had joined us to help orchestrate this morning's operation. One of his assignments was to drive. The other was to provide me with a weapon.

"Where's Clyde?"

Harry's infinitesimal hesitation before answering set off all my warning bells.

"I sent him on ahead. He'll meet us there."

"Any particular reason?"

"I wanted the lay of the land," he said, holding my gaze with eyes hard and steady.

I'll just bet he did. Balls of steel. Damn.

"You should know how important that is," he continued in a pedantic tone reminiscent of the first time he sent me into the field. A lifetime ago.

What I knew was one of two things. Harry had discovered Clyde's alter ego and moved to eliminate the risk, or Clyde, anticipating discovery, had made an exit before that could happen.

Either way, looked like I was on my own. Didn't matter. Wouldn't be a first and I did my best work solo anyway.

"And a weapon?"

His response came quicker this time. Harry pulled out a tidy little Glock and handed it over. "He left this for you."

Sure he did.

I palmed the piece, tested the feel of it and checked the ammunition. I slid it into the pocket of my jacket even though I suspected it was worthless, offering only the illusion of being armed.

I wouldn't be entirely without resources. No matter how pissed he was at me, Tank would have an A team on site. But, they didn't know I was coming and their orders were to take Solokov and protect Cain not back up my sorry ass.

My wits would be my weapon. Wits sharpened by the knowledge this was my final mission. In the next couple of hours my life would change dramatically. Or my life would end.

Throughout a sleepless night I'd tried to prepare for either outcome. What I feared more than death was the failure of my personal objective. A future. With Stephanie.

Delaying wasn't going to help. I pushed past Dolan, heading for the car.

"Let's do this."

Whatever _this_ turned out to be.

#####

"Testing. One. Two. Testing."

"Tank..."

The warning in Steph's voice came through my earpiece loud and clear but I kept right on.

"Testing. Testi..."

"Tank! Stop it!"

"Steph, I want to..."

"It's works, Tank," she assured me, gently this time. "It worked twenty minutes ago. It worked twelve minutes ago and it's working now. Okay?"

"Okay," I allowed reluctantly as I scanned the scene.

As usual there was plenty of foot traffic coming and going around the jail. Cops. Visitors. Lawyers for both sides. All the people made our task easier...and harder. Easier because there was little problem blending into the scene. Harder because it meant more witnesses when it came time for business.

Bobby and Lester were a block away trolling for Solokov. Cal and Junior had been assigned the take-down once we identified our target. Steph and Hal were positioned to intercept Cain Jeffords. I was directing maneuvers from the inside of a decidedly unRangeMan-like vehicle, a rusty blue van I parked not far from the entrance to the jail. We had all agreed that since I was well-known as Ranger's second in command it would be hard for my three hundred pounds of bald black man to be inconspicuous.

But, damn! I wanted to be on the street. I hadn't been this twitchy about an operation since I was a raw recruit. Our insertion had gone smoothly but, something felt off and I sure as shit didn't want Steph in the middle of it. Whatever it was. My scalp prickled. Non-existent hair straining to stand on end.

"All units. Report!" I barked, sharper than necessary.

Bobby's voice came back, calm and reasonable. "Still no sign of Solokov."

"You'll be the first to know."

Lester being a smart ass.

"Cut the crap, Santos. You know we can't move the old man out until Solokov is secure. The further from the jail we ID him the better 'cause my idea of success here is that those two never get anywhere near each other. Safer that way. For everybody."

They all knew I didn't give a flying fuck whether or not the old man ended up as collateral damage but, our orders were to keep him safe. Although why Ranger wanted him protected after the guy had tried to gut him was a mystery to me. It was Steph that worried me. She'd be the first one to approach Jeffords. Her idea. "Come on, Tank," she'd wheedled, "I won't spook him like 'Halosaurus' might." She used the big man's nickname with enormous affection and Hal had blushed obligingly.

Her statement was true as far as it went but, if we couldn't snatch Solokov before Jeffords hit the street and we had to use the old man as bait she could end up in shit's middle.

I wanted her out of the game as quickly as possible.

Cal and Junior checked in simultaneously. Psychic. Knowing what I was thinking. "He'll show, Tank." "We'll get him."

"I'm here," Hal reminded me from across the street. He leaned against a lamppost right behind Steph who slouched on a bench, legs crossed, foot jiggling, thumbing through a magazine. She looked like a gang banger's impatient woman waiting for her man.

"I won't let anything happen to her," Hal pledged.

I heard his implied _not while I'm still breathing_. We'd done everything her stubbornness would allow to keep her safe.

Okay. No problem.

I was almost convinced but, that was before I saw Steph suddenly straighten and go still. She raised her head and panned the street. Taking everything in.

What now?

"Steph?"

A crackle. Silence.

Goddamn microphone. "Come in. What is it?"

No way she could see me through the darkly tinted windows in the van but, she stared right where she knew I was sitting and whispered.

"He's here."

Guess the mic was working after all.

Did I really need to ask who she meant? I asked anyway.

"Ranger?"

Waited for a contradiction. There was none forthcoming. Shit.

"You have a visual?"

She dropped her chin. Shook her head.

No.

Of course not. Why wasn't I surprised?

I opened my mouth.

Ready to tell her that intuition, spidey sense, whatever the hell connection she thought she had going with Ranger wasn't good enough.

Shut it again.

What the hell. She'd been right about everything else.

One thing was for sure. If Ranger was here, he wasn't alone and at least one of his companions played for the other side.

I made sure everyone understood. "All units. Bomber says we have additional men on the field. You copy? Confirm."

Bobby, Cal, Junior and Hal all responded, "Copy."

Lester came back with, "Kind of a game changer, huh."

No shit Sherlock.

Not to mention that if Ranger had eyes on Steph he was going to be pissed as hell.

#####

Babe.

I had spotted her within seconds of arriving on the scene although, I didn't have to see her to know she was nearby.

She knew I was here too. I could tell.

This was the last place I wanted her to be. What the fuck was Tank thinking?

_I'm gonna tell her. _

He hung up on me with those words. He'd regret that decision if I lived.

What had he told her?

That I was alive? Not necessary. I could imagine her saying, "No way he's dead! I'd know if he was dead!"

That I had planned the entire operation? Apparently the cop filled her in there.

That instead of saving the world, her Dark Knight had spent the last decade killing on the orders of a traitor? What a glowing recommendation.

Nobody needed to tell her I was a lying arrogant bastard. She already knew.

I tore my eyes away from where she sat, well aware my hunger to see her was a danger to us both.

Too late.

When I turned toward Dolan, his eyes were glued to Steph as fast as mine had been.

"I've decided Stephanie Plum's not your type, Ranger," he said. "My opinion? She's the girl next door, not the exotic foreign beauty I always pictured with you. Have to say she seems to know her stuff, she's workin' it today. Blending in."

My heart stopped. Frozen by the eerie matter-of-fact quality of Harry's voice. Hearing Steph's name come out of his mouth turned my stomach. I could taste the bile.

"You want her to live," he said. "Right?"

He laughed a little, not waiting for my answer.

"Stupid question. Of course you do. It's written all over you. Probably a good thing you're getting out of the business, Ranger. You're slipping. Time was I could suggest slitting some little lovely's throat and you wouldn't even flinch. Now look at you."

All true. In marked contrast to Harry's cool, collected demeanor, my teeth were clamped together hard, my jaw aching in a futile attempt to keep my rage and fear for Steph from bubbling to the surface.

"Don't worry. I won't hurt her," he assured me. "You have my word as long as you do precisely what I say. You've been following my directions for a long time so it shouldn't be too difficult."

"Turns out your word's not much good, Harry," I said quietly.

"Not what it once was, you think?" His eyes narrowed and his voice went deadly. "You can bank on this. You have my word you won't survive. You are a loose end I can't afford to have unravel."

There it was. His treachery spelled out in a few simple sentences. It was almost a relief. No more pretending.

"You kill Clyde?"

He snorted his disdain. "Evan, you mean?"

I didn't react to his acknowledgement of Clyde's true identity.

"Not yet. But don't expect him with the cavalry. How does that old joke go? _I'm afraid he's all tied up right now._ Besides, you have people here. If I'm not mistaken, that's your man over there behind Ms. Plum. Keeping a careful eye. Probably terrified something will happen to her on his watch. I'm sure you have more men sprinkled through this crowd. Too bad you don't have communication with them and they won't recognize me."

I took a slow calming breath. "What is it you want me to do?"

"Eliminate someone. Same as always. Nothing new."

"Someone?"

"Please, Ranger, no more games."

"You want me to kill Marcus Solokov."

"Of course."

"You realize my men know Solokov is alive. They even told you."

"Yes, yes. I know. Thanks again to your Stephanie Plum. But, won't they be disappointed when they find out their esteemed leader turned. Looking to make a fast buck. Too bad Marcus double crossed you. Tried to have you executed. Damn earthquake. You escaped. Now you want revenge. Things would have been a lot simpler, by the way, if only you had died when you were supposed to."

"And you would have been a lot richer."

He shrugged.

"My men will never believe that story."

"Is that so?" He smiled. "But what about Ms. Plum? Will she believe it? You have any idea how easy it is to create false documentation? Wait. I suppose you do. That's how you got yourself arrested isn't it?"

"She won't believe it either." Please, I prayed. Don't let her believe it.

"Won't she? How much truth you been telling her lately?"

A direct hit. I hadn't told her any truth at all. I hadn't told her anything.

"You're a mercenary, Ranger. Always have been. Everyone knows that. The man who'd do any job for a price. The government paid you well. But all that money wasn't enough. You got greedy. Wanted an even bigger piece of the pie. My story won't be hard to sell."

He was playing me. Fucking with my head. I couldn't let that happen. God knows I knew better.

"You've got it wrong, Harry. I did the ugly work. Took the risks. Yes, got paid handsomely. But it wasn't just about the money for me. Looks like that was you."

He opened his mouth but, I wouldn't let him speak. My turn to smile. I leaned forward, put my face right in his and said, "No matter what happens to me, Harry, you're going to be poor...and dead."

Satisfaction. He blinked.

Then changed the subject by jamming the muzzle of his gun into my still tender ribs.

"Here's how this is going to happen," he said.

No sooner had he shared his plan with me than three men emerged from the door of the jail. Shakir Wilson's boys led the way. Talking, laughing, jostling each other. Cain Jeffords was several steps behind them.

Once clear of the building, the old man stopped, wiped a hand across his grizzled face and squinted into the sunlight.

There was no sign of Marcus Solokov.

TBC

Okay. I'm relatively sure this chapter didn't go as far as you would have liked. The bad news is - the next chapter isn't written yet. The good news is - I know what's going to happen. Always a plus. And, not always the case. Thanks for being such loyal readers in my little dry spell.


	22. Chapter 22

Not my characters, they belong to Janet Evanovich, but as long as Ranger can come out and play I can live with that.

Hey, I'm getting faster. It only took one month for this chapter instead of two! The usual warning for language applies.

**The Right To Remain Silent**

**by**

**SueB**

**Chapter 22**

"I don't give a righteous damn if you've brought about world peace. If world peace is not the objective of your mission statement, your mission is a failure. Do you understand?"

Ranger training. Our attention riveted on a battle-hardened general.

"Sir. Yes, Sir," we chorused.

In his career, this man had never failed a mission. Who were we to question?

Hammered home in a voice raspy from years of command and a fondness for cigars, the general's lesson stuck with me. It became my Bible for success even after I left the Rangers. Especially after I left the Rangers.

When I became a government contractor, a shadowy entity unknown to all but a few in the highest echelons of government crafted my mission statements and passed them on to Harry Dolan who passed them down to me. I was known for executing my assignments to the letter.

Executing...literally, more often than not.

I was good. I couldn't boast the old man's record but, I was close. Damn close.

This time I'd designed my own mission statement. It was twofold. Discover and capture the person responsible for the murder of my colleagues and negate the balance of my current government contract.

Unfortunately, the parameters I'd set were defined by erroneous intelligence.

After instructing me on how the death of Marcus Solokov, followed by my own, was going to go down and on what would happen to Stephanie if I didn't strictly adhere to his directions, Harry had slipped out of the SUV unnoticed by anyone but me.

I'd been right about the Glock. Although I could have handled Dolan without it, I wasn't sure he was working alone. Not sure enough to bet Steph's life on it. Harry knew too many snipers. So I let him go and watched him as he mingled with the crowd.

My mission, the most important one of my life, was doomed. Mission failure.

Except.

It was my mission. I reserved the right to alter it to fit the current intel.

Now my priority was to keep Stephanie safe. If Marcus Solokov and I both died accomplishing that, so be it. As long as I took Harry Dolan with me.

I pulled on a ball cap, adjusted it to shadow my face and stepped out of the SUV to intercept Cain Jeffords.

#####

"Tank?"

Steph didn't need to say anything more. I knew what she was thinking. _Jesus, there he is. What the fuck do we do now? _

Maybe that's what I was thinking.

I tried to keep my own uneasiness under wraps. "I know, Steph. I see him. Sit tight."

The man in jeans, dark windbreaker and ball cap pulled low on his forehead moving straight for Jeffords with confidence and fluid grace was Ranger. Unquestionably.

Steph was still perched on the bench waiting to hear that Solokov had been spotted and it was time to remove Jeffords.

"What should we do?" she asked.

A reasonable inquiry. Too bad I didn't have a clue. Executive decision time.

"All units. Listen up. Ranger is on site. Looks like he's alone but, he hasn't tried to connect with us. Assume Harry Dolan is nearby and watching. And, remember, Harry Dolan is not an ally. He wants Ranger dead. Understood?"

"Roger." "Copy that." "Confirm."

"We got a face for Dolan?"

Leave it to Santos to ask the million dollar question.

My beat of silence said it all.

Lester answered himself. "I'm guessin'. No."

The classified nature of Ranger's work meant he kept a lot of secrets including the identification of his handler. He'd never volunteered anything personal about Harry Dolan and I had never asked. Not even yesterday. Not his age, not his height, not his hair color. What a dumbass.

"Could be anyone," I admitted. Watch your backs. Watch Ranger's back."

"And the plan?"

Bobby. Thankfully choosing to overlook my stupidity.

"Stays the same unless or until Ranger gives us a sign otherwise."

I paused, blew out a deep breath. No telling what had changed since I'd talked to Ranger the day before.

"Don't be surprised if that happens."

#####

I was almost on him before Cain realized who it was. Rheumy eyes flared in recognition.

"Surprised to see me?"

He shrugged. Noncommittal. Wary.

"Ain't gonna 'pologize."

I thought about the voice I'd heard in the shower through the steam and the pain. "Think you already did," I said. "Not expecting more."

I'd moved the Glock into the waistband of my jeans. With a quick flip of my jacket, I flashed him the grip.

Those rheumy eyes went flat with resignation.

"Don' matter none," he said softly. "Been dyin' since the day I was born."

Even if it had been functional, I hadn't planned on using the weapon on Cain. As I saw it, he was a victim. But, he didn't know that's how I felt and I wanted him under control.

"Not here to take you out, Old Man. Tryin' to keep that from happenin'. I need your help."

That shocked him more than finding me alive.

#####

"Steph?"

She was on her feet. Shaking out her little skirt. Ignoring me.

"Steph? What are you doing?"

"Someone has to talk to him, Tank. Find out what's happening."

"No! We haven't located Solokov."

"Doesn't matter. We can't help him if we don't know what's going on."

I slammed my hand into the steering wheel. There was no stopping her. Not to mention she was right.

Only one possible hitch.

"You considered he might not want our help now?"

"Too damn bad," she responded.

"I know he doesn't want you in harm's way."

I saw that stubborn chin of hers go up a notch.

"Yeah, Tank, like I said."

When she reached for her earpiece, I ordered.

"You stay wired. I want to know everything he says."

"Yes Sir," she answered sweetly. Tossing, "Goin' for a walk," back at Hal.

The poor guy looked like I felt...about to hurl.

#####

"I'll do it."

Keeping my words to a minimum, I'd laid out what I wanted from Cain. It boiled down to his being my human shield so I could get as close to Solokov as possible. Marcus wouldn't have any qualms about killing us both but, having two targets instead of one might give him long enough pause for me to make my move up close and personal.

Cain insisted on coming along. Even after I told him the Glock was for shit and, if he wanted to walk away, I wouldn't stop him.

"Said I'd do it," he grumbled. "Keep talkin' I might change my mind. Besides..."

His voice trailed off. Maybe he thought he owed me something. Maybe he did.

I admired the offering. His atonement could have irrevocable consequences. I knew all about irrevocable consequences.

"Look," I said, "when this is over..."

The chugging rumble of two aged buses interrupted me. Their side panels read Trenton Public Schools. They stopped at the entrance to the jail and disgorged their passengers, a sullen mix of male and female students.

"Hell of a field trip," Cain commented.

"And shitty timing," I added.

Harry Dolan had been in my sights ever since he left the car but, I lost him with the arrival of what obviously wasn't the high school debating team. When the buses pulled away, I didn't see him at all.

What I did see was Stephanie, strutting her stuff like the neighborhood 'working girl' and heading in my direction.

"Whewweeee!"

Cain's soft slow vote of appreciation whistled in my ear.

"That's some woman."

No argument from me.

But, if I didn't do this right, she'd be a dead woman. And if that happened, I'd be dead too...no matter how long I lived.

I let her get close enough to be within hearing.

"Babe."

Not sure what I expected but, it wasn't the hard-edged eyes and attitude I got.

"Where's Dolan?" she asked without preliminaries.

More questions followed in quick succession, "What's he wearing? How tall? How old? You gonna give us something to go on here, Ranger?"

God, she was beautiful. All spit and fire and determination.

I had to get her out of here.

"You're wired. Tell Tank to stand down. Op's going solo. It's mine now."

"Really?"

She didn't seem to understand. I clarified.

"That's an order, Babe, not an option. Call off the troops, escort Cain to the van and stay put."

"Wait a minute," Cain said. "I thought I was..."

I cut him off. "Change in plans."

_"Steph, what's doing? Come back. Talk to me." _

I saw Steph go still. Listening.

_"Head's up! Solokov just exited a late model silver Lexus sedan. He's parked a block and a half away, coming toward you. North sidewalk. Tall. Close cropped sandy hair. Jeans, navy polo, tan sport coat. Big bulge in that jacket. Be careful."_

It was going down.

"Babe, please!"

If she argued with me, Tank would hear her. She shook her head.

_"What does Ranger want from us?" _

I exhaled in relief when she said, _"Change in plans, guys. Ranger gets Solokov."_

She looked at me. "You armed?"

"In a manner of speaking."

"Shit," she replied. _"Cal, Junior, Ranger's naked. Back him up. I'll distract Solokov." _

"No! Stephanie! Take Cain and get to the van!"

Now she was not listening. Not to me.

_"Hal, time to collect Jeffords." _

So much for thinking she might do things my way.

Her foot tapped impatiently. _"Hal? You copy? Hal?" _

She turned around to face the bench where she'd been waiting and cried out.

_"Noooo! Tank! Hal's down! Hal...is...down!" _

Dolan. Doing his dirty work while everyone focused on Steph and me. Hal sat on the ground leaning against the lamppost, his chin resting on his chest. Looking like he was sleeping one off. No way to tell from this distance if he was alive or dead. Dolan. Showing me what he could do. Fuck.

For the first time, Steph looked unsure.

"It's Dolan," I said. "Get to the van, to Tank."

Her uncertainty lasted all of five seconds, maybe less. That's when she saw Tank leave the van sprinting for Hal with his weapon in his hand. At the same time she touched two fingers to her earpiece.

_"Solokov is moving quickly. Should be in your sight." _

I closed the distance between us, reaching for her.

She said, _"I'm on it,"_ as she spun away from me.

A quick glance at the sidewalk told me Marcus Solokov was closing fast. As I reached for Steph a second time, a hand clamped onto my shoulder bringing me up short. Cain's strength belied his age.

"You got no gun," he said pulling me back. "Let 'em do this. Her. Your men."

"Let go!" I growled wrenching my arm out of his grasp. "Damn it! You don't get it."

"I get plenty," he returned, blocking my way with his body. "Like she don' want you dead."

"I die; she doesn't," I told him with a shove. "And I don't need a goddamn gun to kill that bastard." Or the one waiting in the wings I thought.

By the time I broke free, it was too late. Steph had already sidled up to Solokov and made quite an impression. He was trying to grab her ass when Cal and Junior came out of nowhere and took him to the ground.

Please, God, let me get to her in time!

The sirens blared right before the gunshot. A Trenton squad car roared down the street, tires squealing as it cut in front of me. Two uniforms were out of the vehicle with guns drawn before it made a complete stop.

"On your knees, Manoso! Hands behind your head! Do it!"

Like hell! I couldn't find Stephanie.

Another cop got out of the car. The three men ranged around me, weapons steady.

"Get down! Now! On your knees!"

Not likely. They could shoot me. I didn't care.

A voice came from behind. It was hoarse and strained but still recognizable.

"Congratulations, Manoso, you did it. You finally got her killed. Damn you. You happy now?"

I stared across the top of the squad car and saw a knot of men kneeling in the grass. They were my men and they formed a protective circle around my Babe.

I dropped to my knees. Not because that's what I'd been ordered to do. Because my legs refused to hold me up.

Joe Morelli's foot in the middle of my back finished the task of planting me face first on the pavement.

Mission failure. Complete and absolute.

TBC

Note: If you were waiting for good news, you've probably noticed that this wasn't it. Just don't forget. It's always darkest right before the dawn.


	23. Chapter 23

Not my characters, they belong to Janet Evanovich, but as long as Ranger can come out and play I can live with that.

Note: Lovely Readers, if you recall, at the end of Chapter 22 I told you I anticipated the next one's going up sooner than has recently been the case because I already knew exactly what was going to happen. This is NOT that chapter. But please notice that this chapter is being posted in less than two weeks (not much less I grant you but, still). You see, I had no idea Joe Morelli was going to go off on me and hijack Chapter 23 but he did. What can I say, he threatened me. At gunpoint!

**The Right To Remain Silent**

**by**

**SueB**

**Chapter 23**

Hell.

Fire, brimstone, a sharpened pitchfork or two.

Not the way I saw it.

Pain...personalized to fit the individual. It didn't have to be physical.

That was more like it.

And I was in it up to my neck. Choking on it.

Without a backward glance or another word after his initial outburst, Morelli cuffed me and hustled me toward his car.

I twisted in his grasp, straining to catch sight of Steph. The cop responded by pounding his fist into my side and stuffing me into the back seat. Even doubled over in agony, I couldn't blame him. In his place I'd have done the same thing. Probably worse.

"For God's sake, Morelli," I gasped as he climbed behind the wheel and started the engine, "go to her!"

Surely he cared enough to see if she was all right.

Instead he stomped on the accelerator and rounded the corner to the right at top speed. The sudden movement threw me off balance. My head and shoulder slammed into the door.

I struggled to right myself and caught sight of the only good thing about the last five minutes...Tank walking slowly toward the men surrounding Steph, supporting Hal who was unsteady but upright and definitely not dead.

One life I hadn't destroyed. Thank God.

Morelli wrenched the wheel around, careening into the next turn and throwing me in the opposite direction. I noticed the route he'd chosen would never take us to the police station.

Fifteen minutes of drive time put us in the parking lot of an abandoned industrial park.

The cop stopped the car just beyond the box of shade cast by one of two sterile one-story buildings. He drew his weapon, opened the rear door and snarled.

"Get out."

It didn't look like we were going for fingerprints and pictures.

When I didn't move fast enough to suit him, he took hold of my arm, yanked me through the door and motioned for me to walk between the buildings. A nudge from the barrel of his gun supplied extra persuasion.

"That's far enough," he said when I had reached a point hidden from both the entrance to the complex and the highway beyond.

A six foot chain link fence loomed in front of me connecting the buildings. One I'd be hard-pressed to climb with my hands cuffed behind my back.

Fence...Morelli. No exit.

Fifteen minutes is a long time when your companion isn't conversational. On the ride here I'd had ample opportunity to think. Tank had told me Steph never believed Cain's attack had killed me. It worked both ways. She wasn't dead.

I'd know.

"On your knees."

Morelli wasn't thinking at all.

I turned toward him, gaining confidence from my realization. "No. Already been on my knees once today."

He rocked me with a sudden staggering backhand to the jaw.

I returned the favor, lowering my head and driving my shoulder into his midsection.

He kept coming, countering with a knee to the groin that had me groaning.

"Damn you!" he said. "Damn you! You were supposed to die not her."

Struggling to stay on my feet and sucking for air, I said, "You want to kill me, Morelli? Finish the job your cousin put in motion?"

I managed the pain. Straightened. "You hate me more than you love her. That's fine. Go ahead and kill me but, I won't kneel for a bullet in the back of the head. You want to shoot me, you look me in the eye when you pull the trigger."

Damn if he didn't pin me with a cool hard stare as he raised his pistol.

•••••••

CLICK.

•••••••

Heart racing. Breathing hard. Running on adrenaline.

It was several long seconds before before my body acknowledged the unmistakable sound of a dry fire.

It was several more before the cop slowly lowered his gun hand, his eyes bright with emotion.

"You need me, Morelli," I told him softly. "If she's dead, I'm the only prayer you have of getting the man responsible. You need me."

Morelli kept his own counsel all the way to the police station, had nothing to say about what happened between us.

He took me in the rear entrance of the cop shop, stiff-arming the officer on duty and blowing by the several men who offered comments in spite of the look on his face that clearly said, "Back off."

"Hey!" "Nice capture." "Man, too bad about the Bombshell."

_No! Babe!_

He personally walked me through the booking process, giving a brusque "Shut up!" to the print tech who wanted to chat and glaring at the photographer before he could even open his mouth.

I thought he would put me in a cell alone but, he opened the door to an interrogation room containing a table and a straight-backed chair, both bolted to the floor.

Morelli removed the cuffs. Silently grateful, I rolled my shoulders, loosening the muscles.

"Sit," he said and I saw he wasn't doing me a kindness. The chair was fitted with shackles on the arms and legs. Once I was seated, he would lock me down.

Customized. Secure. I realized the room was one reserved for suspects considered dangerous and unmanageable. Like me.

The cop had to know that inactivity and uncertainty about Steph's condition would make me crazy. There was no way for him to know that chaining me to that chair would double-triple my anxiety but, he had a nasty smile when again he ordered, "Sit."

A heavy lock engaged when the cop left and shut the door behind him. Like every other interrogation room I'd ever seen, this one had a two-way mirror.

Someone would be watching. Morelli would be watching.

I'd die before I let him see me crack. I closed my eyes. Took several deep breaths. Found my center deep inside so I could wrestle into submission the overpowering urge to scream and howl and tug at the restraints.

_Babe. Babe. _

Based on my instincts, I'd convinced myself she was alive but, kept hearing. _"Man, too bad about the Bombshell. Too bad about the Bombshell. Too bad about the Bombshell." _

There was 'alive and well' and then there was just 'alive'. Recent history said my instincts might be too fucked up to know the difference.

#####

"Hey! Turn that up!"

_This is Lorilei Lipinski, WZBN news, coming to you live from the Mercer County Jail with breaking news on a story that literally has risen from the dead. _

"That Lorilei, she's a looker."

_Earlier this week WZBN and yours truly brought you the city's first report on the murder of Ricardo Carlos aka 'Ranger' Manoso which took place inside the county jail behind me._

_However, we have been informed..._

"How the hell did she get there that fast?"

_...by an unimpeachable source that a little less than two hours ago Ranger Manoso, exhibiting remarkably good health for a dead man, was captured by one of Trenton's finest, Detective Joseph Morelli._

_The arrest occurred shortly after Manoso had a brief tete-a-tete on the street in front of the jail with Stephanie Plum, Trenton's own Bombshell Bounty Hunter and Manoso's rumored paramour. _

"Morelli! Get over here! Lips is talkin' 'bout you. On TV!"

"Fuck that!"

_What remains a mystery is how Manoso managed to fake his death and escape custody as well as exactly what he was doing back at the jail today. _

_Also unexplained is the presence of what appeared to be several of Manoso's RangeMan employees, an unidentified man in their custody and the random gunfire that apparently struck Ms. Plum. _

"You ever seen Manoso work?"

"Yeah. He's as scary as they come."

"They put him in Room 2."

"No shit! Thought they didn't use that one any more?"

"Guess they wanted to make sure we didn't lose him this time. Mickey was behind the two-way when Morelli locked him down. Said the guy never twitched and the look on his face was enough to make you shit your pants. Cold. Hard. Like he was carved outta ice."

"You'd think he'd be feelin' somthin'...for the Bombshell at least."

"Donno. Guy like that...good Lord musta left out a piece or two when he made him. Know what I mean?"

_When we went live, information on Ms. Plum's whereabouts and condition was not available. _

#####

Cut off, waiting...in Hell.

_Babe! God, Babe! _

TBC

A Little Further Note: Okay, I know this chapter was short and you are not any closer to finding out what has happened to Steph. The good news is, I still know what is going to happen next because what I originally planned is still going to happen. It's just that this other stuff happened in the meantime. Think of it as a bonus chapter or, blame it all on Morelli. Yeah, that's a better idea. Blame Morelli. Please! Thanks for putting up with me. SueB


	24. Chapter 24

Not my characters, they belong to Janet Evanovich, but as long as Ranger can come out and play I can live with that.

Dear Lovely Long-suffering Readers, there is good news and there is bad news. The good news is that even though I had to get ready and then actually go on vacation (a shame, I know), I managed to complete this chapter in the car yesterday afternoon (when I wasn't driving but, I was thinking about it when I was driving). And now that I am home safe and sound and have access to my desktop once again I can actually post it! Yea! The bad news? Well, yes, I do realize that it has been almost a month but, look! It's longer than the last one! And the rest of the bad news...well, you'll probably figure that out for yourself by the end of the chapter.

**The Right To Remain Silent**

**by**

**SueB**

**Chapter 24**

Early in my career I learned that identification properly displayed in a handsome leather case was a valuable tool. It helped if the card was printed with a bold type face and included an embedded medallion edged in gold leaf. Ordinarily it didn't matter what the card said if it looked good.

The woman manning the desk was in her late twenties I decided, neat but, plain and not what I'd consider attractive. She did look confident and competent. Concluding she knew what she was doing, I flashed her one of my better sets of credentials.

"Evanston Whitehall to see the district attorney," I said in a pleasant but no-nonsense voice.

"I'm sorry, sir," she replied, not afraid to make direct eye contact. "Do you have an appointment? Mr. Cunningham's schedule is quite full and I don't recall seeing your name."

I'd been right about her. Her brush-off was polite and self-assured. Perhaps she was slightly older and more experienced than I'd judged.

"No, I'm afraid not," I admitted with a rueful smile. I made a point of glancing at my watch. It was close to quitting time. "But I thought I might be able to catch him at the end of his day."

"As a rule Mr. Cunningham doesn't see anyone without an appointment," she told me. "And he's in a meeting at the moment."

She was an effective guard dog and might have discouraged someone else. She hadn't realized yet that I couldn't be discouraged.

"He'll see me," I stated. "My department has some questions about his campaign funding."

Her eyes flickered with concern. Clearly that got her attention. No doubt she held a patronage position and job security was important in these troubled economic times.

"I'm certain Mr. Cunningham would not want his reelection bid jeopardized in any way," I went on, moving closer to her desk and using the weight of my presence to emphasize the importance of my words.

"No, no. I'm sure he wouldn't," she was quick to agree. "If you'd like to have a seat, maybe Mr. Cunningham can see you when he's finished with his meeting."

Having won my point, I backed away. "That would be fine," I told her, "but, if you don't mind, I think I'll stretch my legs a bit. I've been sitting all day."

I wandered toward the closed office door as I spoke and made like I was studying the photos that hung in profusion on either side. Mr. Cunningham had been a very public district attorney.

You could always count on the thin walls in these old local government buildings. I already had everything I needed to ensure the DA would see things my way but, the snatches of conversation I picked up confirmed my research. I smiled to myself.

_"...best work...huh, Jimmy? ...story rising..."_

_"You...me... to thank."_

_"How...ever...do that?"_

_"...think of something." _

The conversation closed with low throaty female laughter. I didn't need to hear what happened next.

"You have any idea how long Mr. Cunningham might be?" I asked, abruptly turning back to the woman at the desk.

The look on her face told me she knew as well as I did what was going on behind closed doors.

"It's a," she groped for a word, "a media consultation. Sometimes they go on for...a long time."

I could imagine.

"Is that what they call it now," I said quietly.

The poor woman blushed. I revised my profile of her. She was thirty-one or thirty-two. Possibly a virgin.

It was fifteen minutes before Lorelei Lepinski, waltzed out of James Cunningham's office. She gave me the once-over and decided I wasn't worth her trouble.

She wasn't worth mine either. I caught the door before she had an opportunity to close it and entered the DA's inner sanctum or, pleasure palace in this case. The man himself was busy tucking his shirt back into his pants.

He looked up when he didn't hear the door shut.

"Who are you?"

I smiled. "I'm the man whose going to get you reelected."

"How did you get in here? Margie!" he bellowed.

"It's after hours. She went home. We had a little chat and I finally convinced her I didn't mind waiting for you by myself. She prefers to be called Marjory by the way. You might keep that in mind. And I'd recommend giving her a raise after the election. Provided you're still in office that is."

"What the fuck! Leave right now or I'm calling security."

Ignoring his threat, I wandered over to a bookshelf along the wall and picked up an 8 x 10 family portrait featuring his wife and four lovely children. "Nice picture...Jimmy," I said holding up the photo, "does Mrs. Cunningham know why you've been delayed tonight?"

I carefully set the picture frame back in its place and continued my tour of the room. The DA lowered himself into his plush leather desk chair. Watching me. Wary.

"What do you want?"

"Like I said, to reelect you."

His eyes narrowed. "What's it going to cost me?" he asked.

Smart man. I finished my circuit of the office and relaxed into a chair in front of the desk.

"You catch on fast, Cunningham. That's good."

"So? Name your price. I don't have time to dick around."

Neither did I.

"Release Carlos Manoso. Drop all charges."

He laughed. "That," he said, "is the one thing I couldn't do even if I wanted to."

"You don't have a choice," I pointed out.

"There's evidence," he insisted.

"Bogus evidence. Provided by a jealous police detective."

He paused. Considered.

"How does releasing Manoso get me reelected? You know what his arrest did for my ratings? Especially today after he thought he'd played us all? We proved his kind couldn't escape the law."

"Well...Jimmy." His mouth pursed in distaste. Guess the nickname didn't sound as good coming from me. "aside from the scandal I won't unleash, I've been authorized to supplement your war chest."

"Really? How much?"

Greedy bastard. "Enough to bury your opponent in tacky _'I'm James Cunningham and I approved this message.' _media spots."

He had to take my deal; his political future depended on it but, for a minute, he gave lip service to the law.

"Manoso murdered Abruzzi.

"I'm sure he did."

"He's a cold-blooded killer."

I had the satisfaction of seeing him blanch when I replied, "You have no idea."

He stood up when I did.

"How am I going to explain this?"

Don't worry I'll provide you with copy for the press. I'm sure between you and your 'connections' you'll figure out how to spin it. Your country needs Manoso's particular talents. Think of this as doing your patriotic duty. Trust me, releasing him will be the best thing that's ever happened to your career. Oh, and Jimmy? Before you go home to the missus, you might want to zip your fly."

I left him staring down at the gap in his trousers.

#####

Not sure who I expected when the door to my cage rattled but, it wasn't Eddie Gazarra. Guess I'd been a miracle to him.

"Jesus! Ranger! Jesus! Couldn't believe it when I heard you were alive!"

Eddie Gazarra! He'd know about Stephanie. He was married to her cousin Shirley. The 'burg rumor mill must have been grinding all day. He would know.

"I went to your funeral for Christ's sake!"

"Eddie...Steph. Tell me about Stephanie."

His brow furrowed. He looked confused. "Whadda ya mean?"

What did I mean? He knew. He had to know.

"Eddie, this morning. Is she all right? Where is she?"

"Man, Ranger. Did somethin' happen to Steph?"

"Damn it, Eddie! At the jail. How can you not know? What about the grapevine? What about the news?"

He frowned, shrugged.

"Shirley an' the boys are at the shore. I work the night shift when they're gone." Sheepish, he admitted, "Then I don't miss 'em so much. And hell, the news is too damn depressing to watch."

I filled him in. The short version.

He shook his head. "I'm sorry, Ranger. I don't know. I didn't hear."

In the preceding hours I'd used every tactic I'd ever been taught on how to stay calm if captured. Now frustration overrode my training. With fists clenched, I yanked at the shackles on my wrists.

The movement reminded Eddie of his purpose. "Oh, jeez. I'm supposed to move you. How long you been in here anyway?"

If Eddie had just come on duty, it was a little after eleven o'clock. I'd been locked down for close to twelve hours. It seemed more like forever.

"Long enough," I replied. "You sure no one said anything when you got here tonight?"

He went to work freeing me as thought about it.

"Duty officer showed up while I was clocking in. Said to get you out."

"No idea why?"

"Nope."

"What did he say?"

He stopped what he was doing and asked, "You mean exactly?"

"Yeah, Eddie, exactly."

"He kinda shoved the keys in my face, said 'Get Manoso outta #2. Take him to the john, give him some water, put him in one of the regular interrogation rooms'."

"That's it? That's all?"

"Uh...well...uh, not quite...uh." His face screwed up in reluctance to go on.

"What? What else?"

"Said he picked me 'cause I was maybe the only one you wouldn't try to kill."

My reply probably wasn't reassuring.

"He was right about that."

Embarrassed, Eddie turned a little red but, more than once he'd shown his loyalty to Steph. She was family. He was a good man.

I was stiff, aching, my muscles cramped, the injuries sustained during the week not helped by the hours of tension and immobility. I wasn't sure I could stand. When Eddie offered his assistance, I accepted it. He grasped my arm, pulled me to my feet and looked down at my wrists. They were raw, bloody, the skin broken.

"God, Ranger, you need a doctor."

My fingers closed around his forearm in a steely grip. "Eddie," I said, my voice hoarse with emotion. "I don't need a doctor. What I need is to know if Stephanie is all right."

He understood. Nodded.

"I'll find out. Don't worry. I'll find out."

#####

Ten minutes.

Fifteen.

Forty-five.

This room had a clock.

A clock. A table. Two chairs. A plastic glass full of water minus two sips.

And me.

I'd been allowed to relieve myself, wash my hands and face.

Given the freedom of the room, I wanted to pace the small space. Back and forth. Back and forth. Like a tiger at the zoo. But they'd still be watching so I stretched instead. Did some deep even breathing. Sat in one of the chairs.

No shackles. Small favors.

Another ten minutes passed before the door opened revealing Evanston Whitehall.

Why wasn't I surprised?

"Nice suit," I said.

It was dark navy and custom tailored to slim his hefty build.

"Had some business."

"Thought Dolan would have finished you off by now."

"That what he told you?" He laughed a little.

I gave him my blank face. His turned hard and serious.

"We both know Dolan's a liar," he told me.

"What are you doing here?"

He laid an expensive but well-worn briefcase on the table, took out two unmarked manila folders and settled himself comfortably in the other chair. He smiled. It wasn't pretty.

"You trained with General Griffiths didn't you, Ranger? Old _'If you've accomplished world peace but, world peace is not the objective of your mission statement, your mission is a failure.'_ Griffiths?

He went on, not expecting an answer.

"Sure you did. You know they still use that speech. Videotaped the old guy before he died, what eight years ago or so."

"This have a point, Whitehall? I'm not much interested in trading stories. You disappeared this morning. Where's Dolan? What are you doing here?"

"Have a mission."

"And?"

"Failure's not acceptable."

"Expect you're about to share your mission statement. Am I right?"

"Always heard you were a quick study, Ranger."

"Cut the crap."

"Mission is two-fold. Your employees were kind enough to complete part one for me.

My throat tightened. They were more than my employees. They were my comrades. My friends. My friends and...my Babe. I swallowed so I could speak.

"Marcus Solokov."

"A unit in my command presented the appropriate paperwork at your place of business early this evening and took custody. Nice facility by the way and don't blame your people. They didn't have a choice."

I would never fault them but, damn. All my leverage shot to hell.

"Let me guess part two. You want Dolan and you don't have any idea how to get him."

"No question." He paused. "But there's more to it than that."

Of course. My body went hot, then cold. I knew what it was.

"You're a valuable asset, Ranger. Your country wants you back in the fold."

"Suppose I refuse?"

He opened one of the folders. Slid it toward me. It contained a single sheet of paper. My name boldly scrawled across the bottom.

"You signed a contract."

The truth stuck in my throat. I couldn't deny it. I'd had a death wish when I signed that paper. I didn't respond.

Just as well, Whitehall wasn't finished.

"Then you made a deal with a traitor."

"Been nice if my country had kept me informed."

"Too bad."

"And if I try to walk away?"

"That's not going to happen."

Directing my gaze with a lift of his chin, he tapped the second folder. It was a good half inch thick but, he didn't open it.

"Evidence," he said, "for the district attorney. Newly uncovered in the state's case against one Ricardo Carlos Manoso for the murder of Edward Abruzzi."

I shifted my eyes back to him as I reached for the the folder. He was smiling again. Ugly. Triumphant.

"Your decision."

When I manufactured the evidence to get myself arrested, I'd been careful to include holes and inconsistencies designed so, if it became necessary, a good criminal defense attorney could use them to my advantage. This evidence had been created with the opposite in mind. It was solid, incontrovertible, beyond a reasonable doubt. It would convict me of murder. Pre-meditated. Deliberate. In the first degree. Put me behind bars. Life. No parole.

There was no decision.

"Lose the file," I said, handing it back.

An hour later I walked out of the police station. Released. But not free.

TBC

I know. I know. Steph still hasn't surfaced. Next chapter. I promise. Cross my heart.


	25. Chapter 25

Not my characters, they belong to Janet Evanovich, but as long as Ranger can come out and play I can live with that.

Note: Tempers flare in this chapter and the resulting language may be, how shall I put this delicately, somewhat colorful.

The Right To Remain Silent

by

SueB

Chapter 25

"Ranger! Ranger, wait!"

A nondescript government vehicle idled at the curb, its driver awaiting my instructions as to destination. I stopped with my hand on the door handle and turned when I heard Eddie's voice.

He was out of breath by the time he got to me.

"Ranger," he huffed. "Had to catch you."

He glanced at the car.

"Wanted to let you know."

My heart pounded.

"About Steph," he said wheezing. "I asked around."

Now I was breathing hard too.

"Morelli hand-picked the TPD men for the takedown this morning. They were all fixed on you."

"Yeah." That figured.

He took a couple more labored breaths. "But there was a beat cop on his regular rounds. New guy. Young. They told him what was going to happen. Told him to stay out of it."

"Eddie..."

"Guess he has a sort of Bombshell fetish. Little crush, maybe. Ya know?"

Didn't every man who knew her.

"He spotted Steph and was watchin'."

"Eddie! Just tell me!"

I don't know if I sounded dangerous or desperate but he apologized.

"Sorry. Sorry. Cop said Steph moved when she heard the sirens. Started toward you. Or the bullet would have hit her in the head dead center."

"But it did hit her?" Could your heart explode?

"A graze this guy told me. He saw some blood trickle down her cheek, but afterwards he saw her sittin' up, talkin' to Brown. Shakin' her head no."

Probably refusing medical treatment. That would be like her. My initial panic subsided, marginally.

"Then Tank picked her up an' carried her over to that rusty old blue van you guys have. I know people at all the area hospitals, Ranger. I checked. She never showed. Not at St. Francis, not anywhere."

He stopped, his face pained.

I could tell he wasn't finished. "What else?"

"Tank came to the station with Santos this afternoon. Tried to see you. They were turned away."

Had they come about Cain and Solokov? Or, had they come about Stephanie?

"That's all I could find out. Not much, I know but..."

His voice trailed off as he looked at the car again.

"Figure ya can't tell me but, do ya know where you're goin'?"

It took me a second to realize what he was asking. He thought I was on my way to some Third World hot spot. Based on my waiting transportation, it was a logical assumption. Only it was wrong.

"I know now, Eddie. Thanks to you."

I'd only half listened when Whitehall told me how they were going to spin my release to the press. Most of the story was true. A ruse. Designed to smoke out a threat to national security. Complete cooperation of the DA. That part had to be a stretch. They'd omit the details that mattered. The ones that mattered to me. The betrayal. The blackmail.

"Ranger," he said when I started to get in the car. "there's one more thing."

I turned around.

"They called Morelli. To let him know. Understand he wasn't happy."

"I can imagine," I responded. "I owe you, Eddie. I won't forget."

He shook the hand I offered.

My driver didn't need directions to the address I gave him.

Haywood.

She had to be at Haywood.

#####

"Tank! You better see...oh shit!"

With the exception of Bobby who was keeping an eye on Steph and Hal who was sleeping off the aftereffects of Dolan's attack, the crew from the morning's operation was in the Control Room. We'd all been too wired to sleep so I'd given the men scheduled for duty the night off. With pay. And we had taken over.

Junior was already reaching for the phone by the time I shot out of my office. What else could go wrong?

I joined Cal and Lester at Junior's back. His monitor displayed camera feed split between the RangeMan lobby and the sidewalk in front of the building. The sidewalk section showed a man approaching the door. It was a little after two a.m. and we weren't expecting visitors. Especially not this visitor. The man's face was still shadowed, but there was no mistaking his identity.

"That's Webber on the desk isn't it. The new hire." I didn't have to ask. I knew it was Webber. Ranger had been in jail when he came on board.

"Yeah," Lester said. "And looks like the men don't call him 'Cowboy' without reason."

Webber was up and heading for the door. Weapon drawn.

There was no audio from the lobby, but we knew when the young man heard the phone from his slight hesitation and the shift of his head.

"Come on," Junior coaxed. "Pick it up. Pick up. Come on."

Slowly, with his eyes still fixed forward, Webber backed up and reached behind him to answer the call.

I snatched the receiver from Junior and barked, "Soldier."

The kid was fresh out of the military. He reacted exactly the way I hoped he would, coming to attention.

"Yes Sir!"

"There's a man at the door..."

Discipline broke down before I could get any further. Webber interrupted.

"I saw him coming, Sir. I can handle him. Don't you worry."

I shook my head. Heard Santos chuckle beside me.

"Not questioning your abilities, Soldier. Put your weapon down and let him in."

"Let him in?" An questioning frown replaced his eagerness for action.

God I hate new guys who haven't met Ranger.

"That's affirmative, Soldier. It's Ranger. The Boss!" I added in case he needed clarification. "Do not. I repeat. Do NOT shoot him. Understood?"

"Understood. Sir, yes Sir. Do not shoot him. Ranger? It's Ranger?"

"If I were you, I wouldn't keep him waiting," I advised.

Webber dropped the phone, somehow managed to secure his weapon and tripped all over his feet getting to the door.

#####

I was standing at the elevator when Ranger stepped off and into the hall.

Our eyes locked. His were hard, guarded. Masking his thoughts. Mine blazed with an anger I made no attempt to hide. This whole deal had gone far enough.

He ignored my silent warning. Tried to muscle past me. "Where is she?"

Nose to nose.

I stopped him with questions of my own.

"You a fugitive? Should I be calling TPD?"

"That supposed to be funny?"

"Am I laughing?"

There was a tightening in his jaw before he answered.

"What? You haven't seen the latest news?"

"It's two o'clock in the fucking morning, Ranger. There is no news. Last thing I 'heard' was Morelli...standing not far from where you are right now...threatening to shut RangeMan down if we harbored you. And that was before I went along with today's fiasco. So let me ask you again..."

All was quiet in the Control Room behind me. Too quiet. Lester, Cal and Junior were listening. I figured they were entitled to hear anything Ranger had to say.

He didn't see it that way. He glanced over my shoulder toward the unusual stillness and swallowed. His eyes changed. No mask, only misery.

He looked back at me. "Office," he said quietly.

I gave way, not able to deny his unmistakable plea for some privacy.

Ranger silently acknowledged the men as he passed through the Control Room.

I followed him but, I wasn't silent. With my frustration boiling over, I made a half-assed attempt at regaining control. Some control. Over anything.

"Anybody workin' in here?" I snapped. "Or is everybody on break?"

They seemed to understand. Junior nodded. Santos returned to his monitor without a word and Cal squeezed my shoulder with one meaty hand before sitting down at his. I'd apologize to them later.

#####

Ranger rolled the chair away from his desk as I closed the door.

His office had been cleared of Steph's things, returned to normal.

I thought.

Instead of sitting down, he leaned across the chair. When he straightened up, he was holding something. Something black and silky that spilled from one hand to the other, flowing like water made of midnight.

Not quite returned to normal.

I recognized the dressy top Steph had worn with her suit the day of Ranger's funeral. He closed his eyes, lifted his arm and buried his face in the scrap of material for the breadth of a second.

The uncharacteristic gesture was over so fast I almost believed it hadn't happened. When he turned to me, his arm was at his side, the garment crushed in his fist. I explained before he had a chance to ask.

"After they reported you were dead...murdered at the jail, Steph wasn't comfortable alone on seven so she moved in here. Until this morning. When we got back, Bobby gave her an ultimatum, either she go back to seven where she could rest without every random RangeMan employee dropping in to say 'hello' or, he was transporting her to the hospital for observation...do not pass go...do not collect... Know what I mean?"

He knew, but it wasn't the questioned he wanted answered.

"Tank...?"

"She's all right, Rangeman. Lucky, but all right. It was a graze. Bobby doesn't expect complications. He's watchin' her for any sign."

Instead of being relieved, he slammed the fist that wasn't grasping Steph's shirt like a lifeline down onto the desk. The vibration bounced a loose pen to the floor with a clatter.

"Damn it!" he said. "Goddamn it! She never should have been there." His voice sounded rough, accusing.

I figured his anger was aimed at me.

"You sonofabitch."

I gave him a shove. Powerful. Knocking him back. Then another. Got in his face.

"I kept your damn secrets as long as I could. Tried to get her to stay out of it. But she said she'd show up on her own if we didn't include her. Maybe," I snarled, "just maybe if you had trusted us...from the beginning, we could have handled things a little differently. Whadda ya think? Huh?"

For good measure I gave him one more shove. He didn't fight back. Didn't even try to counter my aggression. Because, I suddenly understood, it wasn't me he blamed.

It was himself.

I backed off, embarrassed at losing control,

He sank into the desk chair. Elbows on knees. Head in his hands. Silky fabric still dangling from his fingers.

His body screamed exhaustion.

I reminded myself that he'd been physically injured more than once in the past week and, probably worse for him, betrayed. Likely he'd been surviving on adrenaline.

He damn near broke my heart.

I could hardly hear him when he murmured, "Fucked up. Fucked up."

Yeah. Couldn't agree more. Having him say it still didn't make it okay.

Had he read my mind? The words were no sooner out of his mouth than he lifted his head and his whole demeanor altered. A hard-edged determination replaced any sign of defeat or failure. He got up slowly, but it wasn't from fatigue. It was the smooth cautious stealth of a cat on its prey. He became the aggressor.

I knew this Ranger well.

He moved in close and held his ground. His voice came out sharp and challenging.

"Want to pound me into the ground, Tank? Do you? Go ahead. Try. But you better jockey for position 'cause I'm damn sure that there's a line." He went on, only slightly less contentious, "You know as well as I do in our work you can't second guess. Never. You do. You're dead. I can't change what I did and I can't go back."

No mention of how he could go forward.

He reached into his top desk drawer and pulled out a key fob. "I'm going to shower in the gym," he announced. "Tell Bobby he can expect me upstairs when I'm done."

His hand was on the doorknob when I stopped him.

"Ranger."

"Yeah."

"So you know. Steph might not be all that glad to see you."

"I'm aware."

He was gone before I realized I hadn't told him we'd been forced to give up Solokov.

And he hadn't told me jack shit.

#####

Ranger had the key fob in his hand, but he didn't need it. I was watchin' for him. Waitin' with the door open. To be honest, I was blockin' his way.

"Report," he ordered as soon as he saw me.

I didn't answer at first. Just took a good long look at him. Ranger rarely gives away what he doesn't want you to see, but Tank told me the boss had all but lost it downstairs. I didn't see that happen' again. Ranger wouldn't let it even after everything he'd been through. And we probably didn't know the half of it. But, I could tell, the longer I looked, the harder it was for him not to blink.

"We waitin' on a bus?" he finally growled when he'd had enough.

I thought about keepin' him out. Steph sure as shit didn't need any more crap today an' seein' Ranger just might qualify, no matter if she loved him. Probably couldn't stop him though unless I had some backup. Not without a broken bone or two.

"Bobby, let me in and give me your assessment of Stephanie's condition. Now."

Yeah, he was comin' in. I cleared the door so he could enter. Maybe bein' an asshole was the only way he was keepin' it together.

"She's damn lucky to be alive."

"Don't fuck with me, Bobby. I'm not in the mood. Tell me something I don't already know. Should she be in the hospital? Do I need to bring the hospital to her?"

If anyone could do it.

He kept his voice soft, but he backed me up against the wall. I threw my arms out for protection. "Not fuckin' with you, man. Back it down. She's okay. Shaken up, sure. Who wouldn't be? But she's okay."

He eased off a little. "She sleeping?"

"Dunno. Woke her just before Tank called. Bullet grazed her temple. Been checkin' every couple hours for trauma symptoms. Headache, nausea, confusion...you know the drill."

"And?"

"And she's been clear. No problems. Could be some scarring. Too soon to tell."

He closed his eyes and nodded. Took a deep breath.

The bedroom door was closed, but I still heard the water when the shower came on. He heard it too.

"Not sleepin'," I said.

"I'll take over," he replied.

Shit.

"Ranger, I don't think..."

"it's a good idea?"

"That's right."

"I won't hurt her, Bobby," he said softly.

My silence told him he already had.

#####

She came out of the bathroom as I opened the bedroom door. Wearing a T-shirt. Black. Mine. A cloud of steam and a waft of Bulgari followed her. There was a towel covering her head. She was drying her hair. Rubbing vigorously. Talking without looking.

"Don't yell at me, Bobby. I know you said I shouldn't wash my hair, but it was nasty. Blood and salve and ick. I couldn't stand it. I was careful. I promise. Think I got the bandage wet though. Maybe we could leave it off. That okay?" she finished hopefully. "Bobby?" she called when she got no answer.

"Not Bobby," I got out once I conquered the mass lodged in my throat.

She raised her head. Towel draped around her face. Eyes huge.

"Ranger," she whispered.

"Oh, Babe."

TBC


	26. Chapter 26

Not my characters, they belong to Janet Evanovich, but as long as Ranger can come out and play I can live with that.

Note: If you have been following this story, you probably thought this chapter was never going to happen. Truthfully, the fifth or sixth time I started over I began to think that myself. But, I'd rather be slow and get it right than fast and unhappy with the results and sometimes the voices in my head simply won't cooperate. Here's to hoping I'm not slow AND wrong. You may have noticed that I changed the rating for the story to M. Probably that wasn't necessary for this chapter, but it may be for some subject matter I have in mind down the road and I'd rather be safe than sorry. If this change disturbs anyone, I do apologize. Thank you for sticking with me. It means more than I can say.

The Right To Remain Silent

by

SueB

Chapter 26

Ranger.

Here.

Couldn't be.

Yet the tingle at the back of my neck told me it was true. Who was I kidding? Every nerve ending I had told me it was true.

He looked terrible.

Grim, tense, exhausted.

Only three steps away. I could touch him. Ease him.

He looked wonderful.

Solid, beautiful, breathing.

Distant. Light years away. I could never touch him. Or ease him. Not really. Not inside, where I wanted to. Where he needed it.

He didn't trust me.

I couldn't trust him.

I loved him.

Well crap, after all that had gone on, how could I be sure of that? Of anything? With the single exception of knowing he wasn't dead, my Ranger instincts were completely out of whack.

"Wow!" I said shaking my head and instantly regretting it when the pain between my temples bounced around like an erratic pinball. "Maybe I should've listened to Bobby."

"About what?" Ranger's brow creased in concern. What do you mean?"

"Well, you know, about getting my head examined. He told me what to watch for and I wasn't dizzy or sick. Didn't think I was confused either." I paused, squinted as if to see him better. "'Til now."

"You're confused? All of a sudden?"

He looked more than a little alarmed, but he kept his voice a soft caress.

"Either that or I'm having hallucinations," I replied.

"No. No, you're not."

"Ranger, it's the middle of the night and sure looks to me like you're standing right there, but Tank and Lester went to the station this afternoon and the duty officer wouldn't even let them in the door. So how could you be here now? You telling me they released you? Or, did you shoot your way out?"

I was only half kidding.

He took one step out of the shadows. He wasn't kidding at all. "Babe. It's me."

"Is it?" I challenged. "'Cause, even without the head injury, it's been hard to tell lately. What's real...and what isn't."

He stayed where he was, but reached out, offering his hand.

"I'm real."

Proof.

If I touched him, I'd know for sure.

Huh! Like his magnetic force field wasn't enough to convince me.

_Touch him. Touch him. Go ahead. Touch him._

Old Stephanie, the one from a week ago, hopping up and down in her excitement. This week's Stephanie knew if I touched him, I'd be lost. Nothing would change. I'd get no answers.

I backed away.

_**Steph might not be all that glad to see you. Tank's words. **_

I must be worse off than I thought. I'd swear Ranger's eyes flashed with distress and disappointment...right before he closed them.

Too late I realized I should have closed mine too. Then I wouldn't have seen his wrist as lowered his arm. It was cut and swollen, colored by a trickle of fresh blood.

Camel's back. Straw. Damn. More than I could stand.

I must have moved, dropped my towel. I tripped over it getting to him. I caught his hand and cradled it in both of mine. He inhaled when my lips grazed the edge of the wound, making a sharp and raspy sound. Was he hurt worse than I could tell?

There was no chance to check. That fast Ranger snatched me into his arms, lifting me off my feet and holding me tight to his chest. "Babe, oh Babe," he whispered over and over, his face buried in my neck, his heart hammering hard against my breast.

His hair hung down long and loose. My fingers tangled there like they belonged. My other hand clutched his shoulder, grasping at the soft fabric of his T-shirt.

Could I get any closer? Crawl inside him maybe?

_No touching. Remember? You knew what would happen. _

Yeah. Yeah.

My body had its own opinion. To hell with no touching. New Stephanie could take a hike. Long hike. Short pier.

I wrapped my legs around him and held on tight. Wanting to never let go.

His grip stayed strong, but his breathing was erratic, making me wonder again how badly he was hurt.

"What did they do to you, Ranger?" I asked softly.

_**They made me doubt my instincts. They turned me inside out and back again. They made me batshit crazy not telling me if you were all right. **_

He was quiet for a long time. I thought he hadn't heard me. "Ranger?"

"Nothing," he answered finally, "...nothing I couldn't handle."

Ranger didn't have a lot of friends at TPD. Hell, Ranger didn't have a lot of friends period, anywhere. I wasn't even sure he defined Tank, Bobby and Lester as friends, the men he was closest to. That aside, he'd worked with TPD for years. The guys there didn't have to like him to respect him and be, if not grateful, at least accepting of his help. Except for one.

"It was Joe, wasn't it?"

For a second his arms tightened around me possessively and I knew I was right. Just as quickly he loosened his hold, but only enough to allow me to slide until my feet touched the floor. There was plenty of time on the way down to appreciate every inch of his strong hard body.

Delicious friction. Heat. Firing the pot that would turn my brain to mush.

"Doesn't matter," he said in my ear and I felt the rumble of his voice in dangerous places.

"Doesn't matter," I parroted, still clinging to him.

Doesn't matter.

Wait.

Doesn't matter? Doesn't matter?

What was it about mush anyway? My swiftly deteriorating brain function managed to conjure up pictures of Cream of Wheat, Malt-O-Meal, Quaker frigging Oatmeal. Ranger food. Stuff I wouldn't touch with his lips. Yuck!

No mush for me! Doesn't matter my ass!

Ranger let go. Minor miracle. But probably because he wasn't expecting me to batter at him with both fists and a knee. This time he was the one to back away.

"Babe. Babe. Don't."

I was still swinging. For my efforts, I gained some distance and rescued New Stephanie.

"You listen to me, Ranger Manoso. It was bad enough to bury you once. Know what I thought? This morning, when I heard the sirens? I thought they were going to shoot you. Shoot you down right in front of me and I wouldn't be able to stop them. You were going to die while I watched from a front row seat."

_**Yeah. Welcome to my world. **_

"We'd have to bury you all over again. For real this time. It's...it's...," I gasped.

Dammit, I wasn't going to cry. No, I wasn't!

Shit!

Yes, I was. Tears streamed down my face in spite of my attempt to scrub them all away.

Furious. I fought for control.

"It's been a long damn week, Ranger, and everything about it matters, so don't you fucking try to tell me otherwise!"

Out of words, out of breath, but not out of tears, I stood there trembling, crying. Making a fool of myself because Ranger stood there too.

Doing exactly...nothing.

No, that's not right. He was doing something. He was busy being Ranger. Composed. Blank faced. Unreadable. My tirade like so much wave breaking on a rock.

He could make me go off like a firecracker. We had chemistry, unquestionably, but the emotional closeness I thought we'd shared since I moved into Haywood was a sham. A joke. On me. Had been for weeks. Hell, for years if I was honest.

I shook my head. Turned my back. Unable look at him. "Never mind, Ranger," I said. "Just nev..."

"I'm sorry."

Any further words stuck in my throat.

"I'm sorry," he said again.

He was coming closer. I could tell.

"It wasn't my intent to trivialize what happened."

He paused. Behind me. I could feel him. His warmth, his intensity.

"What I meant was...now, right now, what matters is that you're alive and I...I need...to hold you."

_Ranger? Ranger needs?_

He was a breath away. Breathe. Yeah, breathe. Think I forgot how to do that.

"Babe...Stephanie..."

He didn't sound so sure of himself now and I was in trouble. Oh God. Deep shit kind of trouble.

"That's going to mean touching isn't it?" I mumbled.

His voice hinted at a smile.

"I hope so."

I swayed. Only because I was dizzy. Because my head hurt from yelling. Maybe if I leaned back a little. Ahh. Like that. Propped up by the wall of Ranger's chest.

Better. Much better. It was all about recovering my balance. Right?

Ranger's arms slid around me from behind, anchoring me against him. He tucked my head under his chin, molded his body to fit mine and exhaled what sounded like a sigh of relief.

Maybe I was wrong. Had expected too much, too soon. This was Ranger after all, the man of few words and less information. He wasn't in the habit of explaining himself. He'd said he was sorry.

Everyone deserves a second chance.

I folded my arms on top of his and rested my head back against his shoulder. Let out a little sigh of my own. Back to front. We went together like perfect puzzle pieces. We stood there, breathing as one. Hearts beating in sync.

For a long time it was enough.

And then, it wasn't.

Since my move to Haywood, Ranger and I had confirmed, in case there was any doubt, that we were good in bed. Technically, we didn't have to be in bed to be good. We were good in the shower. We were good on his black leather couch. We were good up against the wall in the foyer and we had been especially good on the kitchen counter although while Ranger smiled, I was mortified when Ella served us dinner from the same spot not an hour later.

There had been plenty of sex. Mind numbing, bone melting, outer reaches of the universe physical connection. That's not what this time was about.

We were in agreement on at least one point.

Too many clothes in the way.

Something quickly remedied, but peeling off the interfering garments was the only thing we hurried.

Naked. In his bed. His powerful body stretched out beside, half on top of me. I thought I'd never feel him next to me like this again. He'd be dead. Or, worse in his mind, in prison. It was one reason I'd been unable to sleep in this bed alone.

He brushed his knuckles across my cheekbone, then carefully nudged an errant curl past the gash on my temple. My breath caught as he shuddered, touched his forehead to mine, murmured, "Could've lost you. God, so close. Could've lost you."

When he lifted his head, I saw him clearly in the soft glow still shining from the bathroom. His eyes. Unshuttered. A dark pool. Drowning me in love. Himself in regret.

I babbled, "We...we...uh...left...the...uh...light...on."

He nodded ever so slightly.

Speaking volumes without words. He meant for me to see.

I ached to smooth the lines of fatigue around his mouth, to chase the sorrow from his eyes, but when I reached for him he caught my hand, brought it to his lips.

Whispered.

"Babe...please...let me love you."

Hard to argue with that. Especially since somewhere along the way I'd lost my ability to talk.

He took my silence as consent.

Ranger. On a mission. Focused. Relentless. Single-minded. His mouth and hands slowly, expertly mapping my body's terrain. Leaving no part of me unexplored. What little defense I had crumbled at his onslaught.

How could I let this happen?

Because you love him.

How could he make me burn and shiver at the same time?

Because you love him.

Yes, but...

"Babe..."

"Ranger..."

He drove his body deep into mine. The victor. Mission accomplished.

But, in turn, I captured him. My arms and legs locking him inside me.

He let it happen.

Because he loved me.

For an endless minute he didn't move and when he did, the earth moved too, tilting and spinning, tossing us both into a whirlpool of laughter, tears and passion shared.

I was sure this was more than bodies joining. We were one in mind and soul as well.

Eventually the earth returned to its accustomed orbit and we lay in each other's arms...content, relaxed.

I nestled into his shoulder, my arm across his chest, fingertips measuring the strong, steady cadence of his heart. His skin was warm and inviting.

My turn to explore.

Ranger's body is all rocky hard with chiseled edges. No softness, no gentle curves. On a mission of my own, I skimmed my palm down his side and across his stomach. Was rewarded when the muscles there twitched and bunched under my touch.

Ha! Famous control breached. I smiled. He groaned, jerked when I flicked my tongue along the same path my hand had taken.

"Mmmm," I murmured as I tasted him. "Salty."

Greedy, looking for higher, uh...make that lower ground, I reached my hand further down his body and discovered...

Something that shouldn't be there. At all.

I scrambled to sit up.

A long line of prickly black stitches stretched across his abdomen. Must have been more distracted than I thought. How had I missed them?

"God, Ranger! Cain? Cain actually tried to gut you?"

I tore my eyes away from the ugly evidence of the attack. Looking to him for answers.

Ranger went completely still. His eyes were on me, but they were different from moments ago. Keeping all his secrets. Again.

"Thought that was old news," he said evenly.

Old news. He was right. I'd bullied Tank into sharing everything Ranger had told him.

"It is. It...it was," I stammered. "I guess, I thought...I was hoping the attack was, I don't know. Not real. A ruse. Just part of the plan."

The plan he hadn't told me about. The one that left me completely in the dark. The one that hadn't gone so well.

"Ranger! Cain's downstairs. Not even locked up. Your orders. He's bunking with Lester for heaven's sake. Is he going to gut him too?"

"Santos isn't in any danger."

"I don't want him to get hurt. I don't...I don't like you being hurt," I finished, my voice breaking.

He shifted toward me. Reached for my hand.

"Comes with the job, Babe. My line of work...it's part of the territory. Cut's superficial at best. And don't worry about Cain. He's an old man and his heart wasn't in it. I'm fine. Lester will be fine. Trust me."

Trust him. Problem. Superficial. Funny he used that word. It pretty much defined everything Ranger had told me...from the beginning. That is when he wasn't flat out lying. He might be fine. I wasn't fine. I needed more.

"Ranger."

The tone of my voice grabbed his attention.

"What's really been going on. What happens next?"

He dropped my hand and carefully pulled up the sheet, covering his wound and a fast fading erection.

"What is it you want to know?"

_How about everything? Or, if not that. _

"Gee, let's start with when are they going to come for you?"

"They?"

"Whoever's currently pulling the strings. You tell me. CIA? Homeland Security? The FBI?

I didn't give him a chance to respond.

"No? How about TPD? Joe?"

Low blow. But, oh! Direct hit!

Ranger flinched.

I pressed my advantage.

"Be good to know if somebody's gonna break down the door, 'cause if they are I'd kinda like to get dressed. Second thought, maybe you should get dressed. Not good for your image to get dragged out cuffed and bare-assed."

"They'd never get by Tank." Dead serious.

"You sure? Maybe you pissed off the Grand Poobah of Superheroes? Who knows what he could do."

The more ridiculous I was, the more reasonable he became.

"No one is coming for me. Not tonight. Not in the morning."

"After the way they took you down this morning. Why not, Ranger? It doesn't make sense."

He didn't answer right away. Then, "The charges have been dropped."

"Dropped?" It took me a second to process his words. "You're free."

If I hadn't started shaking in relief, if I hadn't been fighting more waterworks, I probably would have noticed Ranger's hesitation, questioned his response.

"Released. I've been released."

Instead, I willingly went into his arms, accepted his soft chaste kiss and frowned only a little when he pulled back.

He was hurt. He was tired. That's why his eyes were empty.

He confirmed my suspicions when he said, "I need some sleep, Babe. So do you. Bobby's gonna skin me alive for getting you upset."

His smile was sad as he wiped away the last of my tears. He kissed me again and gently guided my head to rest on his shoulder.

Suddenly uneasy, I asked him. "You're going to tell me. Right?"

"Tell you what, Babe?"

"Everything," I whispered.

"Morning news," he murmured. "It'll all be on the morning news."

The morning news? I was supposed to get my explanation from the morning news? From "Lips" Lipinski? Like hell I was.

"Is that supposed to be funny? Ranger? Ranger...?"

He was asleep. Instantly. Each breath deep and even. Like he didn't have a care in the world.

Damn him.

#####

Good thing this location is secure. I slept like the dead. A fact that had nothing to do with the 1200 thread count sheets and everything to do with the woman sleeping in my arms.

Only...she wasn't sleeping in my arms.

With my eyes closed, I turned over and reached for her to find...empty space. Cold empty space.

My watch was on the table beside the bed. Right where I had left it a lifetime ago. Sitting there like nothing had changed. My pulse picked up speed. Began to race. Somehow everything had changed.

"Babe? Stephanie?"

No answer. Had she gotten up dizzy? Fallen? Cracked her head on the tile?

I rolled out of bed. Naked. Panicked.

"Steph? Stephanie?" Still calling her name, I tried the bathroom first.

Not there. Not a heap on the floor. Thankfully.

I'd gotten halfway across the room when she appeared at the bedroom door. Stopping me dead in my tracks.

"I'm here, Ranger."

She looked all right. Fully dressed. Jeans, T-shirt. Not mine. A hoodie. Hair pulled into a ponytail. Calm.

I swallowed, took a deep breath on the off chance the combination would help me look calm too.

"You're up early," I said. And then, because I couldn't stop myself. "I missed you."

She shrugged. "Couldn't sleep. Besides," she added, "it's almost nine o'clock. According to you, day's over."

"No," I said, "day's just beginning."

Just beginning. And my current state of undress made it glaringly obvious how I wanted to spend it.

For the first time since I could remember, Steph didn't have anything to say. The space between us filled with an uncomfortable silence. An icy fist wrapped around my heart. I didn't need to hear her response to know she was leaving me.

"I've been packing," she said.

The fist squeezed. Hard. The pain was worse than any wound I'd ever suffered.

I wouldn't stop her. How could I? I'd known when I asked her to come here that it was selfish and wrong. I had nothing to offer her and my attempt to change my circumstances had only made things worse. In the process, I'd deceived her, caused her untold heartache and almost gotten her killed. I'd die before I stopped her.

Trouble was, when she left. I'd die anyway.

There was a knock at the apartment door. Steph went to answer it. I searched the floor for my pants. She was back soon.

"Hal's here to help me."

"Hal?"

Of course it would be Hal. He'd be terrified. The only one of my men who wouldn't try to rip my head off. It was almost funny.

Poor guy about shit his britches when I carried Steph's duffel to the door and dumped it at his feet.

"You're done, Hal, Stephanie will be down in a minute," I said and shut the door in his face.

I stood in her way.

She looked me in the eye. "You have things to do, details to handle," she said.

So right. I ran through that laundry list in my head. Hunt Harry Dolan down like a dog. Even the score with Evanston Whithall. Pound Joe Morelli into the ground. Yeah, that about covered it.

"I have to go."

"I know."

I let her get by. Her hand was on the doorknob when she turned around.

"Call your Abuela Manoso," she said. "Let her know you're okay."

No way I could trust my voice. I nodded.

Steph's big blue eyes filled with tears. "Tell her...tell her, I'm sorry."

"What...?"

"Just tell her. She'll understand."

I stopped her.

"Don't go back to the cop."

She shook her head. Touched my cheek with her fingertips.

"How could I do that, Ranger...when I love you."

And she was gone.

TBC


	27. Chapter 27

Not my characters, they belong to Janet Evanovich, but as long as Ranger can come out and play, I can live with that.

Note: If you have read some of my other stories, you know that I love Tank almost as much as I love Ranger. Sometimes I love Tank more than I love Ranger. This chapter is one of those times.

The Right To Remain Silent

by

SueB

Chapter 27

THUNK. THUNK. THWAP. THUNK. THUD.

The sounds coming from inside the gym were muffled, but still identifiable as someone doing serious damage to a heavy bag.

Or to himself.

"How long's he been at it?"

Bobby answered my question without needing to check his watch.

"Too damn fucking long," he said.

I'd tried to sleep after Ranger showed up, but an A-list client required my attention before dawn. Not that it mattered. I hadn't been able to close my eyes. Standing here listening to Ranger battle his demons wasn't making the problems or my headache go away. Bobby's next words didn't help either.

"Ranger showed up on five with Cain in tow not long after Steph and Hal took off. He left the old man in the hall and came in the Control Room lookin' like the devil himself. It was so bad even Santos was too lily-assed to say anything. He went in his office and came out a few minutes later with a brown envelope. A fat brown envelope."

"Cash?"

"Yeah. Ranger gave Cain the envelope, went back in his office and shut the door. The old man took the elevator to the first floor."

"I don't understand."

"Wait. It gets better. Zip was on reception. Cain walks up, thumbs through the envelope and then puts it down on the desk. Said somthin' like, 'Tell your boss I can't take his money. Did the wrong thing. Right reason, but the wrong thing.' He took off before before Zip got over having 20,000 big ones dropped in his lap. Never looked back."

"Shit. Ranger know Cain didn't keep the money?"

"Yeah. Zip called for relief and brought envelope back up here. He wasn't too keen on havin' to knock on Ranger's door. Shook like a little girl. Guess he thought he was gonna die."

**THWAP. THUNK. THUD. THWAP. THWAP. **

A particularly intense flurry of punches gave Bobby pause.

He looked at the gym door, then back at me.

"The rest of us were afraid he might be right," he said.

"I take it Ranger brought any murderous intent down here instead."

Bobby nodded. "Zip beat it out of the office. Left the door open. Everybody pretended they weren't paying attention, but we all saw Ranger. Standing there. Head bowed. Not moving. When he looked up...his eyes...", Bobby stopped stricken by the memory. "Christ, Tank, I've seen Ranger in a bad place before, but not like this. Never like this."

THWAP. THWAP. THUNK. THUD. THWAP.

Bobby blew out a long frustrated breath. "You see the news?" he asked.

"Yeah. Santos ran the tape for me when I got back."

"Cunningham tried to sell it, but he didn't seem too happy about Ranger's release."

I agreed. "Looked to me like our illustrious DA swallowed a cactus," I said. "Someone else is definitely calling the shots."

"Think it's the same one as has his hooks in Ranger? Whoever it was orchestrated relieving us of Solokov yesterday?"

"That'd be my guess."

THUD. THUNK. THUNK. THUD. THUD.

We both listened as the assault inside the gym continued unabated.

"Hal back yet?"

I shook my head.

"We know where he took her?"

THUD. THUNK. THUD. THUD. THWAP.

The unrelenting repetition was getting on my nerves. Pounding in my head.

I snapped, raised my voice. "I was downtown when they left, Bobby. Remember? You were here. You know where he took her?"

"Look, Tank, I'm sorry, but I'm worried about him. This is gonna kill him."

"If I don't kill him first," I said, reaching for the push bar to open the door.

"It's locked."

"Yeah, figured," I responded, producing a key from my pocket, "so I came prepared."

"Except you're missing body armor and a helmet," Bobby muttered.

#####

THUNK. THWAP. THWAP. THUD. THUNK.

His rhythm never altered but his shoulders shifted and, even with his back turned, Ranger knew it was me. I'd be the only one with the stones to disturb him. Or the only one dumb enough.

A couple seams on the heavy bag had split allowing grains of sand to spill onto the floor.

"Think your opponent might have thrown in the towel some time back," I observed.

THWAP. THWAP. THUNK. THUNK. THUD.

His feet were bare and he wore only long black athletic pants. The waistband sagged low on his hips, soaked with the sweat running down his torso. He must have started with his hair tied back, but the rawhide strip he'd used now clung to only one small hank. The rest hung loose around his shoulders.

After how many hours, he still moved around the bag with fluid grace. His hands should have been broken. They were taped, but no gloves.

The bag was smeared with blood.

"Looks to me like you could use a breather too."

THUNK. THUNK. THUD. "Get out." THWAP. THWAP.

So much for doing things the easy way.

"Make me."

I wasn't expecting him to laugh, but that's what he did. I failed to see the humor.

THUD. THUD.

Two more punches and he hauled the bag into his arms. Hugging it, halting its movement.

"You've been awful damn anxious to take me on, Tank." he said, turning to face me. He was spoiling for a fight. His eyes glittered in anticipation. "You really think that's a good idea?"

The short answer was 'No'. I was almost twice Ranger's size, but I didn't have his edge. Never had. That's why he was good at what he did. That's why he was still alive. It accounted for how, against all odds, he'd survived one mission impossible after another.

I should have known that instead of wearing him down, the last several hours had honed that edge to razor sharpness.

Stupid me.

"If that's what it takes to keep you from killing yourself."

He smiled. God, it was ugly.

"Not killing myself. In training."

"For what?" I threw out. Bein' an asshole? You've got that in the bag."

Smiling back I added, "No training required."

I didn't see it coming. He was like lightning. Capricious, unpredictable, fast.

Not to mention he fought dirty.

One sharp hard kick to the crotch, an iron fist to the jaw. A pile-driving head butt to the solar plexus and I dropped, gasping. A 300 plus lb. rock.

My world narrowed to pain, nausea and a desperate clawing need to curl into the fetal position.

Not going to happen. Ranger wasn't finished making his point.

"Need to be more aware of your surroundings, my man," he snarled.

With no apparent effort, he flipped me face down, offering up a taste of polished hardwood. The knee he planted in my spine assured my cooperation. Seizing one arm, he wrenched it up behind my back at an angle it wasn't designed to accommodate. Ever.

Goddamn.

Thought it. Couldn't breathe enough to say it out loud.

Ranger leaned down and hissed in my ear. "Trust me. It takes a lot of work to be as big an asshole as I am."

Maybe he was right.

"Get...the...fuck...off...of...me," I spit out between labored breaths. "You...sonofa...bitch."

To my surprise, he did.

With the pressure on my back relieved and my arm freed, I groaned and moved just enough to clutch at my throbbing private parts.

It was several minutes before I recovered enough to open my eyes.

Ranger sat crossed-legged on the floor beside me. All his aggressive energy drained. His eyes bleak and weary.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Sure. Peachy," I grunted.

I tried sitting up. Didn't make it.

"Bobby said I needed body armor to come in here," I panted. "Cup woulda been a better choice. Good thing I wasn't plannin' on bein' a father any time soon."

"Sorry."

"The hell you are."

In the stretch of silence that followed, I managed to right myself...and not ask any questions.

My patience was rewarded.

"I'm going after Dolan."

No surprise. I waited some more.

He caught my eye. Held my gaze.

"Then I'll be finishing out my contract."

A contract he signed with a death wish.

"It's suicide."

"No," he said. "It's a commitment. One I'm keeping."

His look dared me to challenge him.

Couldn't pass up that opportunity. Not with an 800 lb. gorilla in the room.

"What about Stephanie? That wasn't a commitment?"

He wanted to hit me again. I could tell.

Instead, he said, "It was wrong to ask her to be with me when I had a prior obligation."

"You told her. She knew what she was getting into. She still came."

"And it was wrong to look for a way out."

Suddenly I thought I understood.

"Wrong thing. Right reason," I said.

He went stalk still.

"What was Cain willing to kill for?" I asked.

About the time I thought he wasn't going to answer, he said, "A home. A place to belong."

I considered what he said.

"Not so different from what you wanted. Except you were willing to die for it."

His faced hardened, but I went on.

"Dolan arranged your contract," I pointed out. "He's a traitor. You exposed him as well as being instrumental in bringing down Solokov. There must be some room for renegotiation."

"No," he said. "There isn't. Not going to happen. Dead issue."

Something was missing. Something he still wasn't telling me. He stood up, began stripping the tape from his hands.

He was all done talking.

I wasn't.

"A heartbeat."

He stopped what he was doing. I had his attention.

"That's all the time it would take for her to come back."

Silence. But he didn't move.

"She thinks you don't trust her. You need to tell her exactly what you did and, more importantly, you need to tell her why."

"Thought you'd spilled all my secrets."

Not quite all.

I thought about the ring in his safe. I hadn't shared that secret.

"Besides, mission was a failure," he went on.

"You're embarrassed? That it? The mighty Manoso fucked up?"

"She could have died."

"So you're gonna stomp all over her and let her walk away."

"Yes."

"You miserable sonofabitch. She's the best thing that ever happened to you. I can't figure why she loves your sorry ass, but she does. She deserves better."

I was ready for him to whale on me some more, but he was calm. Too calm. Agreeable even.

"You're right, Tank. With this contract, the job will probably catch up with me and...she does deserve better. If I'm not around, she's more likely to get it.

Shit.

He finished with the tape, picked a towel up off of the floor, threw it around his neck and headed for the door.

"Ranger."

Progress halted.

"Even though my balls are now residing in my throat and you've probably ended the chance of my ever contributing to the gene pool, I still have your back. Let me help."

He smiled again as he turned around. It wasn't ugly now, just infinitely sad. "No, Tank," he said. "Not this time."

I had to stop him. Rolling to my knees, I pushed off the floor trying to get up. Moaned. Turned the air blue with a few choice words.

The door opened. Bobby was still in the hall.

"Brown," I heard Ranger bark. "Tank could use a hand."

Too late. I felt a sharp stabbing pain. My heart hurting worse than my testicles.

I'd lost him.

TBC


	28. Chapter 28

Not my characters, they belong to Janet Evanovich, but as long as Ranger can come out and play I can live with that.

Note to the lovely, patient and long-suffering readers of this story. I know. I know. It's been forever since an update, but first it was the holidays plus the never-ending avalanche of work at my day job that leaves me brain dead come evening. Uh...and then, well maybe there was the fact that although several chapters back I told you I knew exactly what was going to happen next...well maybe it turned out that I didn't know "JACK"! You'll probably see what I mean. Oh yeah, and I'm all done predicting the arrival of the next chapter. I get it wrong every time. The best I can say is...eventually. Anyway, thanks for waiting.

The Right To Remain Silent

by

SueB

Chapter 28

I'd been here before and the cantina looked the same as it had the first time.

The sorry excuse for a building squated on the wrong side of a town that didn't have a right side. It shimmered in the heat of the late day sun. Paint faded. Shutters weathered and hanging crooked. Cracked roofing tiles loose and poised to maim patrons as they entered. Not that most of them would notice a knock on the head.

The sounds were the same too as dusk rolled into darkness. A pensive melody played on a half-tuned guitar trickled through the open windows to be accompanied by a shrill chorus of cicadas. Laughter. The rise and fall of voices.

The Gringo?

He arrived about three weeks ago the locals said. Goes to the cantina every day, mid morning. Right after opening.

I just got here. I missed today's arrival.

No worries my sources told me. He stays 'til after midnight. Sits at the same table in the back writing in a notebook. Page after page. At suppertime he eats whatever the house is serving and then orders a bottle. A bottle and two glasses. He fills them both like he's expecting company. But no one ever comes. Not so far. All evening he refills the first glass leaving the second one untouched. Until it's time to leave. Then he lifts glass number two in a silent toast and swiftly downs its contents before making his departure.

Was he expecting me? He had to know I'd come for him if I was breathing. Even without government orders.

I waited and watched ignored by an indigenous population willing to supply information for the right price, but conditioned to refrain from questions about a man's business. In this town, questions got you dead.

At full dark, I traded the shadows in the street for those in the cantina doorway. That's when the smell hit me full force. Hot oil. Tortillas. Sweat. Beans and peppers. Cheap perfume. Onions. Tequila.

I didn't stand out in this crowd and my progress through the knot of tables went unnoticed until it became clear I was here to see the one man who did stand out.

There followed a noticeable lull in conversation.

He had chosen the same seat I would have under the circumstances. Back to the corner. The spot where a slight turn of the head offered a view of the entire room.

Although I knew there was no chance he had missed the change in noise level, Harry Dolan didn't move. Never looked up. He kept both hands on the table, his fingers wrapped around his glass.

He let me get close enough to strike a fatal blow before he spoke.

"Took you long enough."

My orders were to bring him back, but I'd spent three weeks haunted by the sound of a gunshot and the image of Steph on the ground surrounded by my men.

Fuck orders. I had come to kill him.

My fingers itched to wrap around his neck as tightly as his were wrapped around that glass. I wanted to squeeze, hear him gasp and watch him die.

He continued, unfazed by my presence. "You started on the wrong continent."

Shouldn't have surprised me he knew I'd returned to Chechnya. Probably also knew I'd gone from there to Afghanistan, Malaysia and several other places before finally tracking him to this Mexican backwater.

"Must have called in a lot of favors," he observed.

Right again. I'd collected on nearly every marker owed me. A considerable number after all my years in the field.

"Thought you'd be here sooner." He sounded disappointed.

I took what I hoped would be a calming breath. One that would, at least momentarily, temper my rage. I had come to kill him and he was talking as though everything that had happened was nothing but a training exercise.

An exercise with me in the role of inept trainee.

"Remember this place?" he asked. And answered his own question. "Of course you do," he said, finally looking at me. "You always remember your first."

We had cleaned up this town together. Ridding it of traffickers. Effectively plugging a major drug pipeline into the US. It had been Harry's last mission in the field, before he became a handler. My first government contract.

He emptied his drink in one long swallow. Poured himself another.

"Too bad our efforts were for shit," he said. "Like pulling your hand out of water. The hole fills up real fast."

Bitter words.

"That why you betrayed your country? Betrayed me? Can't beat 'em, join 'em?"

Harry's fascination with his glass returned.

"Sit down," he said. "We need to talk."

"Talking is the last thing that interests me."

"Good," he replied, "then maybe you'll listen."

When I didn't immediately follow his orders, his voice sharpened.

"Sit your ass down, Ranger. There'll be plenty of time to kill me. I know you don't plan to take me back."

He gave me a long hard stare. "Even if I agreed to go."

I sat, but first I moved the chair against the wall, checked the doors and windows.

"At least you haven't forgotten everything I taught you."

Harry humor. Covering my back and finding the exits were lessons I'd learned long before I hooked up with him.

His eyes flared when I picked up the second glass. In anger?

I kept on in spite of his silent objection, lifting the glass and sniffing its contents. Tequila. Hardly the best. Not even the best this place had to offer.

It wasn't my intention to taste it. I'd had enough rough liquor in my early years to last a lifetime.

When I set the glass back down on the table, Harry visibly relaxed. Interesting. Guess it wasn't meant for me.

I motioned toward the notebook. I hadn't seen him writing. In fact there was no pen in sight.

"Your memoirs, Harry?"

"No."

I raised a doubtful eyebrow.

"A memoir," he explained, "would suppose I colored events to my advantage."

"Just the 'facts' then?"

"Right, just the facts."

"And what exactly are the facts, Harry? That if your aim and timing had been a little better, my woman would be dead?"

My words were bitter too. Stephanie wasn't dead, but the hope I'd had of building a life with her certainly was.

Harry's gaze drifted to the bar where a middle-aged woman worked pouring drinks. She'd never been a beauty and her body had thickened with the years, but there was something about her. Her eyes were bright, her face vibrant and alive. She talked easily with her customers, making each man feel special. They loved her. My men loved Steph like that. I had to look away.

Harry was still watching her when he asked, "Do you have any idea how fucked we were on our mission down here?"

Fucked? My recollection was that we had been successful. Our handlers pleased. Our reward ample.

I responded with a blank stare.

"Remember Elena Alvarez?"

Where the hell was this going? I lifted a non-committal shoulder.

"She worked here," he said. "Behind the bar."

There had been a lot of women behind a lot of bars since then. When I gave no sign of recognition, he added, "We spent 24 hours in her root cellar."

Without warning my heart slammed hard against the wall of my chest and the hair on the back of my neck rose to attention.

Harry said you always remember your first, but he'd been wrong. I hadn't. Not completely.

The man we'd come for didn't show when our intel said he would. We lingered in the town. Too long. Raising suspicions and escaping by minutes the flunkies who came for us.

Determined to fulfill our mission, we agreed to wait for our primary target. Until then, there was the root cellar. Sanctuary, such as it was, offered by a woman I saw only in shadows.

My breathing accelerated as it all came flooding back. I closed my eyes. "It was dark. Smelled like rot. Wasn't room for two. We could hardly move. No way to avoid the things that crawled all over us. A long, very long 24 hours." I stopped.

Harry went on while I recovered my composure.

"And it was entirely likely the next thing through that cellar door would be the business end of an AK-47."

I nodded my agreement, embarrassed at having suppressed the experience and by my reaction to its return.

"Sometimes..., I started, "sometimes..."

"Sometimes," Harry picked up, "to do what we do it's necessary to block out the things that might keep us from it."

For a minute we sat in thoughtful silence.

Wise man, Harry.

...Sonofabitch!

Wise enough to distract me from his sins by focusing on my shortcomings. Damn. The man always did know how to dull the sharp on my edge. Pissed me off that I'd allowed it to happen.

He almost smiled when I said, "So does this little stroll down memory lane have a point." I was on to him and he knew it.

"Yes."

"Planning to tell me what it is?"

"I'm not the one who took the shot at your woman."

When I slapped the flat of my hand hard against the table, the second glass jumped, sloping a splash of tequila over its side.

"Bullshit," I growled, leaning forward to get in Harry's face. "Not five minutes before it happened you told me you would kill her if I didn't take Marcus out?"

"Words and actions. Different things."

"Give me one good reason why I should believe you?"

"Because I wouldn't do that to you, Ranger." His face clouded with sadness. "I might threaten...to achieve my end, but, truthfully, I wouldn't do that to my worst enemy."

"Why?"

Harry turned his head, surveying the room. "We killed a lot of men in this town," he murmured. "Bad men. Men the town, the world even, was better off without."

I interrupted. "You digress."

"Shut up and listen," he said, focusing back on me with eyes narrowed and his voice like granite. "We didn't get them all. The ones who were left came back and killed my woman. I'll spare you the details."

My stomach turned. Bile rose in my throat. I knew what he was going to say. It mirrored my greatest fear.

"You see," he continued softly, "Elena Alvarez was my Stephanie Plum."

TBC


	29. Chapter 29

Not my characters, they belong to Janet Evanovich, but as long as Ranger can come out and play I can live with that.

Note: Yeah, yeah. I know. It's been a couple of months, but I've decided to stop apologizing. It's getting old (even to me) and it doesn't make me any faster. Just know that I really appreciate your patience and eventually I'll get to 'The End'. Because after all I want to know what happens as much as you do. :)

The Right To Remain Silent

by

SueB

Chapter 29

Tap. Tap.

The knock on my office door was too cautious to be one of the guys. Hell, only the newbies knocked anyway, everybody else barged right in.

That left one person and I hadn't seen or heard from her since the day Ranger was released.

In spite of the 'burg grapevine, only God and Hal knew where she'd gone that morning. God wasn't saying and Hal, never a big talker, was conversing less than usual even though Santos had threatened him with thumbscrews applied in unconventional places.

"It's open."

Nothing.

I called out a little louder. "Come!"

Another ten seconds passed before the door cracked and Steph peeked in.

"You busy?"

"Naw," I said, pushing my chair away from the desk.

She glanced skeptically at the piles of papers I'd been shuffling.

"Honest," I insisted. "I only pretend. It helps to keep the yahoos out of here."

A tiny smile rewarded my attempt at humor, but still she hesitated.

I got up and pulled on the door. The gentle tug had her flying into the room. At first I thought it was because her fingers were white knuckled on the doorknob, but I took a closer look.

I eyed her jeans, the ones she sometimes left discretely undone at the top after too many Boston Cremes. They were buttoned up and drooping at her hips.

"TastyPastry close down?"

She looked at her waistline, tried unsuccessfully to hitch up her pants.

"Guess the new diet's workin' then, huh?" she shot back. All bluff and bravado.

New diet. One woman's definition of stress and heartache.

"Haven't been hungry," she admitted with a shrug of her shoulder.

Hadn't been sleeping either if the dark circles under her eyes were any indication.

She lifted her chin, caught and held my gaze.

"Tank...?"

I knew what she wanted even though her question hung in the air unasked. I shook my head.

"Haven't heard from him, Steph."

Her eyes narrowed with the expression that meant she was sure I knew more than I was telling. Not that she didn't have reason to think that.

"Look," I said. "I'm not his damn keeper. I don't know where he is." My words came out angry and defensive.

Truth was, while I regretted Ranger's leaving right down to my bones, I hadn't looked for him. Hell, I'd tried to get him to listen to reason, but if the stubborn son-of-a-bitch was determined to dive headfirst into a drained lake, who was I to stop him? Besides, for my trouble, I'd had to scrape my balls off the floor. Kinda pissed me off.

Although, Steph wasn't the only one not sleepin' real well.

Man. None of this was her fault. I started to apologize for being such a dick, but she spoke before I could.

"He went for Harry Dolan."

A given. Not a question.

"Yeah."

"What I want to know," she went on, "is what happens after that?"

_He's going to die. _

My certainty of that fact scared the shit out of me. I delayed my response as long as possible, trying to choose my words carefully. Only there was no way around it.

"He intends to finish out his contract."

The ramifications of Ranger's decision weren't lost on her. Her face went white.

"No! No, he can't! He's been exposed as an operative. His arrest. The press. The media. All the wires services picked up the story. His face was everywhere. For a solid week he was CNN's brightest friggin' star! He'll die!"

She knew as well as I did.

"We have to stop him," she said.

Sure. Except Ranger didn't want to be stopped. Didn't care if he lived or died and, from where I stood, preferred the latter.

"Think I didn't try?" I said quietly.

"Oh, Tank, no!" She reached out and gave my arm an apologetic squeeze. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that, but he had to know when he signed on to help Harry Dolan that he couldn't go back into the field. That it would be too dangerous."

My mouth moved before my brain engaged. "He knew. It just wasn't supposed to..."

I stopped. Christ, I'd stuck my foot in it. I knew why Ranger had been willing to jeopardize his life and his career. He had spelled it out in the information he left in his safe. He'd also made it clear, crystal, that Steph not be told his reasons.

She was giving me that look again. Her eyes sharp, her words measured.

"It just wasn't supposed to...what, Tank?"

"Ranger's going to kill me," I muttered.

"Ranger?"

Her voice went up a notch.

"You think Ranger's going to kill you?"

And then it hit a whole new level.

"You better worry about me. Because you either tell me what the hell you're talking about or I'm going to kill you."

"Steph. Please, Steph, I..."

"Don't 'Please, Steph' me, Tank. I'm tired of being in the dark. I'm tired of begging for information. I'm tired of being the one who doesn't know what the fuck is going on!"

Back straight. Eyes blazing. Fighting stance. She was really something.

If this woman loved me, I'd go up against the Devil himself and all his Legions to keep her. How could Ranger let her walk away?

It didn't take a genius to figure it out, but understanding Ranger's thinking didn't stop an icy chill from running down my spine. His head and heart had been at war since the day he met her. He needed Steph more than a fish did water, but, when his perception of what_ she_ needed didn't include him, his heart lost the battle. He signed that damned suicidal contract the day she opted for Morelli, and now that his second chance had taken a direct hit he was going to finish the job. Better to leave her angry than grieving.

Except, one look at her and you knew that plan was for shit.

"The man's a fool," I said under my breath.

Maybe she agreed with me, but Steph ignored my comment. If she gave up on him, Ranger was lost for good, but his skewed sense of honor kept him from giving her the most important piece of the puzzle. The one she desperately needed.

I wasn't that noble. He might not be able to tell her why he had put his life on the line, but I could, even if it meant risking my balls...again.

"I'm waiting," she reminded me.

None too patiently.

I looked her in the eye so she'd know there was no deception in mine.

"It wasn't supposed to matter. Having his identity revealed."

"Not matter?"

She thought she understood.

"Because he'd be dead."

Her voice was flat, hurt flickered across her face, but she had it wrong.

"No Steph. That wasn't it. Sure there was risk. No mission is without it. But this one was about living."

"Living? Right."

"He made a deal."

"A deal? What kind of deal?"

"In exchange for his help, Dolan agreed to negate the balance of Ranger's contract."

"Negate," she parroted. Her voice grew softer when she said, "As in..."

"...void," I finished. "As in release from. As in free of further obligation."

"Free...," she tested the word. "Free... Free to...?"

"Free to make a life. A real life..."

She searched my face for the rest of the sentence.

"...with you."

"He did it for me." It came out a whisper.

"Yes. But for himself too. You're the reason he lives and breathes, Steph. You always have been."

A crack or two appeared in her bold facade. She exhaled like someone had punched her in the gut, closed her eyes and turned her face away.

Her reaction surprised me, but maybe it shouldn't have.

"Steph, Ranger lives behind that blank face of his, but you do know how much you mean to him, right?" I asked.

She wouldn't look at me.

"Steph...? Look at me."

When she finally raised her eyes, they were bright with tears and clouded by sorrow.

I do know," she said. "Oh, I do."

She stopped. "Steph, what's wrong?"

"We have to find him, Tank," she said. "I have to see him. Talk to him. I have to."

She was fueled with energy and purpose, but there was something else too.

"I'll go to him. Wherever he is."

The 'something else' sounded a lot like panic.

"You want to tell me what this is about?"

She shook her head. No.

"Yes," I pressured.

"You know Ranger as well as anyone," she said. "And you're right. He doesn't give much away and when he does, you get exactly what he wants you to have and no more. He talks even less."

She took a deep breath, "Ranger's only said 'I love you' out loud once. It was the night before I moved in and it was hard for him."

I started to interrupt. She stopped me.

"No," she said. "You don't need to defend him. He's a man of action not words. When Abruzzi hurt me, Ranger killed him. When Scrog held me captive, he knowingly walked into a trap," her voice caught, "and almost died. Those are the big things. There's too many little things to count, the the number of times he's picked me up, dusted me off, given me whatever support and encouragement I needed. How much proof do I want?"

"Maybe some verbal reinforcement?" I offered. "Just once in a while."

"He's told me over and over that he loves me, Tank. Actions not words."

With a sad smile she added, "Abuela Manoso said Ranger loved me because I accepted him for the man he is.

She blinked and the tears she'd been fighting trickled down her cheek.

"I lost sight of that man for a while. Before all this happened, I'd stopped trusting him, had doubts. Even though, in my heart, I knew how he felt about me."

"He won't change," she went on. "He can't. And, the truth is, I don't want him to change. Abuela Manoso is a wise woman. I love the man he is."

Abruptly, she switched subjects.

"When did Ranger sign his current contract?"

"What?"

"His contract, Tank. When did he sign it?"

Like I could forget that day. Ranger ushered Steph into his office with the hint of a smile and a protective hand at her back. He left not long after she did. And I thought I'd seen my best friend for the last time.

I couldn't answer. The words clogged my throat.

I didn't need to. She already knew.

"It was after I told him about Joe and me, wasn't it?"

I hated to confirm. "Not an hour later," I got out.

"I have to find him, Tank," she said softly, "before he gets himself killed."

"Shit, with Dolan out of the picture, I don't know where to start. Who his handler is. If he has one. We didn't exactly part on good terms, Steph" I confessed. "It's not like he left a forwarding address."

I hadn't noticed it before, but she had her usual bag hanging from her shoulder. She reached in and pulled out a manila folder.

"Maybe this will help," she said.

The file contained photographs of a thick built man in a smart dark suit. I recognized the venue, Trenton PD. The first shot showed him in profile, but the second had caught him head on.

I'd seen that face before.

TBC


	30. Chapter 30

Not my characters, they belong to Janet Evanovich, but as long as Ranger can come out and play I can live with that.

Warning: Ranger and Tank both got a little worked up in this chapter. Please excuse their language.

The Right To Remain Silent

by

SueB

Chapter 30

_Elena Alvarez was my Stephanie Plum._

It explained a lot. Excused nothing.

"I get it, Harry. You loved her. You lost her. Believe me, I get it, but it's no license for treason and betrayal."

I reached across the table and fisted my hand in the collar of his shirt. It was damp with sweat. Giving it a yank sharp enough to challenge the seams, I pulled him toward me so his face was close to mine. Eye to eye.

"Doesn't tell me why two good operatives were murdered," I hissed. "Why I ended up on my knees in Chechnya or why my woman was a hair away from dying."

"Not by my hand," he reiterated.

I tightened my grip. "Not yours? Whose then?"

Harry stayed calm. The eye in my storm. Never blinked. To his credit.

My ear caught a chair or two scraping in the background.

"Might want to reconsider making a scene." Harry said. "I'm the constant here." He rubbed his thumb against his first two fingers. "And they like my American dollars. Mucho dinero."

He'd paid for protection. I was a threat to the boom in the local economy. Still, I couldn't give it up.

"Give...me...a...name."

The guard dogs edged a little closer. He waved them off, but ignored my demand.

Then, in a move I should have seen coming but didn't, he stabbed his thumb straight into the nerve at the center of my wrist.

"Goddamnit!"

Pain, sharp and tingling, raced to my shoulder rendering my hold ineffectual. Harry flashed me a self-satisfied smile as he casually straightened his shirt and slid back into his chair.

"Tell you one thing, Ranger. You were right."

Hard to believe. Seemed like I'd been dead wrong about pretty much everything.

"Yeah?" I said, attempting to shake some use back into my arm. "About what?"

"About getting out. It's time for you."

"Ya think," I snarled.

"You're angry."

_No shit, Sherlock._

"Aren't you the perceptive bastard? You're damn fucking right I'm angry."

"Ah, Ranger. Still breathing after all these years."

He shook his head, sighed like that was something of a miracle. Maybe it was.

"I'm disappointed. Of all people, I'd think you would know."

My breathe knotted in my chest. I did know. A basic tenant.

"Anger doesn't help. Anger makes you careless. Anger gets you dead," I recited it like a school boy.

"Exactly," he returned, his voice sharp and intense. "Men like us can't afford anything that fucks with the job description. Anger, joy, sorrow, hate, fear..."

"Love," I added.

"And love," he agreed softly. "Especially love."

He hammered his point home.

"If you can't put it aside," he said, "you get out. Or, you die."

Steph had left. In...out. I was dying either way.

In spite of Harry's little mercenary refresher course, my rage built again.

"If you recall," I said, "getting out was my goal. I think we both know that option's no longer on the table."

He offered me another smile. One too many. My fist itched to erase it.

"Our boy thinks he has you by the short hairs. Good."

He lifted his glass, tipped it toward me, as if in celebration, and downed another healthy shot of tequila.

_Good? Our boy? What the fuck? _

Slowly, carefully, I sifted through everything that had happened. Harry was watching me. Steady. Patient. Waiting for me to get it.

If he hadn't betrayed me, I could only see one other possibility.

"How long?" I asked.

He raised an eyebrow. Sucker stole that from me. "How long?"

"Yeah, you heard me. How long has this been all about Clyde?"

He didn't answer.

"No, I forgot. That's wrong. His name isn't Clyde is it? It's Evanston Whitehall."

The temperature outside was pushing ninety even with nightfall. But the tone of Harry's voice still sent an icy chill down my back.

"For a very, very long time."

#####

I studied the photos Steph had handed me. They were black and white, grainy. "Looks like these were isolated from surveillance footage," I observed. "Taken inside TPD."

She nodded in confirmation.

"Where'd you get 'em?"

"Eddie."

"Gazarra?"

She nodded again.

Guess he counted as a relative since he was married to Steph's cousin.

"Got together with the family, did ya?"

Hell, I'd thought RangeMan was her family too, but none of us had heard from her.

I must have sounded pissed. She wrapped her fingers around my wrist applying gentle pressure until I looked at her.

"He came to me, Tank, because..."

She faltered.

"Because?" I prompted.

"Because," she said, starting over. "Because he didn't like what they did to Ranger after they brought him in."

"They?"

"Morelli," she specified. "He didn't like what Joe did."

Sure sign I wouldn't like it either.

"Yeah, so what did the fucker do? Not much would surprise me."

She shook her head. Squeezed her eyes shut tight. Made me feel like a jerk. I was being a jerk. Ah, hell.

"Steph. Sorry. I didn't mean...I'm sorry."

"No," she said, her voice strained. "You're right. Eddie said...he said they have a room, a special interrogation room, one they're not supposed to use. The furniture is bolted to the floor and the chair..." She took a shaky breath. "The chair is fixed with...shackles. Joe put Ranger in there."

I didn't want to hear this. The sadness and horror in her eyes said she didn't want to tell it, but she went on.

"Joe locked him into that chair, chained him hand and foot and...and left him. Not able to move. Just left him. For twelve hours. That's why they wouldn't let you in to see him. Tank...no one helped him for twelve hours!"

She paused, stricken by that thought and the next one. "Even worse, no one at TPD, not one of them, questioned what Joe did."

Shit.

Except for the man himself, I was probably the only person who would realize Steph had just described Ranger's worst nightmare. Although the majority of RangeMan's hires were special ops veterans, every new employee still went through our own version of the military's SERE training. SERE - Survive, Evade, Resist, Escape. Instruction included techniques to use if captured by the enemy.

It wasn't long before I noticed that if Ranger wasn't in the wind, he participated in these exercises. Always. And not as an instructor.

When I mentioned it, he told me he believed it was important the men understood he wouldn't ask anything of them he refused to do himself.

At first I bought it, but I watched him through the next several sessions. Saw him sweat and struggle when he was captured and restrained. He wasn't setting an example. He was trying to make the grade.

"Yeah," I growled, "so where was Gazarra through all of this? Maybe he should have done something."

"He wasn't there, Tank. Eddie's working nights. He didn't even know Ranger was alive until he checked in. The duty officer told him to get Ranger and put him in a different room. That he was getting a visitor."

So much for spreading the blame.

I held up the photo. "This guy?"

"Yeah," she said, but something else was on her mind.

"Tank?"

"What is it Steph?"

"Ranger was hurting when Eddie released the restraints, even accepted a hand to stand up. But..."

"But what, Steph?" I asked softly.

"But all he asked about...was me."

"He didn't know you were all right."

She shook her head.

Christ Almighty!

When she began to tremble, I put my arms around her. Whispered in her ear. "He loves you very much."

I'd been wrong about Ranger's worst nightmare. As hard as I'd seen him train to overcome his deficiency, I was sure you could chain him in the dark for a year and he could take it as long as he knew Stephanie was safe.

But not knowing?

Hell, no wonder he'd been stretched tighter than a drumhead by the time he got to Haywood.

She was inconsolable.

"I left him, Tank," she cried. "Left him when he probably needed me the most. I left him."

My interaction with Ranger hadn't exactly been stellar either.

"Steph. We'll get him back. I swear to you we'll get him back. This time we're going to help him whether he likes it or not.

"How?" she asked. "How are we going to do that?"

"Well, thanks to Gazarra, we have a place to start," I said, tapping a finger on the picture. I recognize this guy. He was at the jail when we went to see Ranger."

"He was?"

"Yep. He escorted Ranger to the visiting room. One of the correctional officers."

"A guard? Why would a Mercer County jail guard have anything to do with Ranger's release?"

"Because there's more to him than that. We find out what it is; we find Ranger."

"And we do that how...?"

"Use our secret weapon."

She frowned until I picked up my phone and she realized who I'd called.

"Amigo," I said putting the phone on speaker. "Ranger needs your expertise."

"Si," Hector replied. "You know. For Ranger. Anything."

"I know how you like to hack in deep waters."

"Oh yes. Si." he replied. I could hear the eagerness in his voice.

"I need you to find someone. But, you have to be careful."

"Hector always careful," he replied.

"Except for once," I said, reminding him of the mistake that had brought him to us.

"Except for once," he conceded.

"This time," I told him, "We might be stepping on some pretty big toes."

TBC


	31. Chapter 31

Not my characters, they belong to Janet Evanovich, but as long as Ranger can come out and play I can live with that.

Note: You should know that my Spanish comes from Google Translate and my knowledge of personality disorders is cursory only, but I hope the use of each of these in the following chapter will get the point across without being offensive or too terribly wrong. Please forgive me if either occurs.

The Right To Remain Silent

by

SueB

Chapter 31

"We shoulda gone along."

Junior's voice.

"Don't remember bein' invited. You?"

Cal's.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Gotta mind the store. Still. Kinda like to be with 'em. Wherever the hell they went. Wouldn't you? Just in case."

_Just in case?_

I stood in the dim hallway outside the Control Room which, considering it was the dead of night and prime time for break-ins, was seriously undermanned. Lucky for them my two employees never took their eyes off the monitors even though, clearly, their heads weren't in the game.

"Wherever the hell who went?" I demanded, stepping into the room and gesturing at the empty chairs. "Everybody?"

So much for being aware of their surroundings. The men startled like little girls, belying their collective bad ass reputation.

"Jesus!" Cal said.

"Christ!" Junior finished.

"Hardly," I replied.

"How the hell," one of them began.

"Did you get by the cameras?" the other concluded.

"My building," I reminded them. "And any time the two of you want to stop channeling Tweedledum and Tweedledee long enough to tell me what the fuck is going on would be good."

"Who?" They stared, uncomprehending.

Under other circumstances, it was enough to make your eyes roll.

"Never mind. Now! Telling me now would be better."

The men looked at each other. Junior deferred to his partner.

"Umm, uhhhh," the bigger man said.

"Eloquent, Cal. Not too informative. Let's try this one. Where's Tank?"

Cal shook his head, a frown creasing his tattooed brow.

"Not here."

My frustration rose. "I gathered that. Specifics?"

He lifted one shoulder. Junior came to his rescue. Sort of.

"Looking for you."

_Looking for me?_

On my way back to Trenton I'd considered raising Tank on his cell. Then, thought I'd wait. Decided I'd probably pissed him off sufficiently when I left that he was glad to see me gone and not all that anxious to have me back. Couldn't say I blamed him. Only one way to find out.

"Because?"

"Whadda ya mean?"

"Why...is...Tank...looking...for...me?" I spelled out.

"Well, on account a Bomber," they chorused.

The 'Why else ya dumb fuck?' went unsaid.

_Tank was looking for me because of Stephanie. _ Damn.

A dozen possible reasons competed for the top of the list. None good.

Chief among them: complications from her head wound, the cop being stupid, Evanston Whitehall...reaching out to finish what he'd started.

I swallowed, struggling to keep my breathing even, to keep my heart from slamming straight through the wall of my chest.

Finally I managed, "She all right?"

They conferred with a glance.

"Seemed like," Cal said thoughtfully.

"Little skinny, maybe?" Junior offered.

"Yeah," Cal confirmed, "little skinny."

Skinny? My Babe? Not ideal. Hell of a lot better than comatose. Still didn't tell me jackshit.

"Could you, just one of you," I said, holding up a single finger to demonstrate, "please give me some information?"

There was a long dead pause.

"Haven't got much," Junior admitted.

"but Hector might," Cal added.

God! They were doing it again.

"Hector?"

Cal went on. "Bomber hadn't been here long before Tank called Hector into his office."

"How come?"

They shrugged. In tandem. "Dunno."

"To do whatever Hector does?" Junior guessed.

Hack. That's what Hector does. Better than anyone.

"Then what?"

"After a while Hector came out and this evening Tank and Steph took off."

"for who knows where."

They were still finishing each other's sentences, but at least we were getting somewhere.

"Just the two of them?"

"Uh huh."

"What about Santos? Brown?"

"Bobby went home. Death in the family."

"And Santos?"

"Pukin' his guts out."

"Yep."

The men turned back to their monitors. Dismissing me.

Nothing more? That was it? Like they'd said it all? What part of 'give me information' were these guys not getting? My jaw clamped down hard enough to put my teeth in serious jeopardy.

"Explain!" I exploded.

"Well hell, Ranger. Half of RangeMan's down with some bug."

"Whole building. Hardly been a john free to piss in since 0500."

At least that accounted for the lack of staffing.

"Hector sick too?"

"Naw, he's okay."

"Guy's got an iron stomach."

"Then tell me where the fuck he is!"

"Okay. Okay."

I was losing it. I had to get a grip.

Cal pulled the duty roster out of the drawer beside him and methodically went down the list with his finger. One...line...at...a...time.

My fingers twitched with the urge to wrap around two necks and crack heads together. When this was over RangeMan was scheduling seminars on communication. I could think of several topic titles. How And When To Share Vital Information. Telling The Boss What He Wants To Know. And, my personal favorite. When Ranger Asks, He Wants Details...Or, How To Keep The Boss From Pulling Your Teeth Without Anesthetic...Something He's More Than Willing To Do. Yeah, that last one might get their attention.

_When this was over._

The rampage in my head abruptly pulled up short.

Would this ever be over? If and when it was, would I be alive or dead? More to the point, would it matter? The answer was short and I already knew what it was.

Not without Stephanie.

"Ranger. Boss. Hey! Ranger!"

Cal. Cal was talking. I took a breath. Focused.

"Yeah. Yeah, Cal, what is it?"

"Hector's across town. Doin' surveillance."

"Call him in. I want him upstairs. Twenty minutes."

"But we had a tip."

"Roman Fiori surfaced."

One of our highest bonds and most elusive skips.

"On Seven," I said, looking at my watch, tapping the face. "Make it fifteen."

#####

Exactly thirteen minutes later, Hector stood at the door to my quarters.

"Boss?"

I motioned him inside and skipped the preliminaries. He wouldn't take offense; Hector wasn't into chit chat.

"Where'd they go?"

"D.C."

I asked even though there was only one person I could think of they might find there.

"Who were you looking for?"

"The man in the photo."

He said it like it was something he thought I would know.

"Photo?"

"Si. Bomber had it. From TPD. From Eddie G."

My insides coiled tighter with every word he spoke.

"Big man." he described. Heavy build. Dark suit."

"Did you find him?"

He made a disparaging sound that translated as 'Are you kidding?'

"Of course I find him. He had funny name...Eeevanston..."

"Whitehall."

"Si. Si, that's it."

"You get an address?"

Maybe it was the deadly menace in my voice. The murder in my eyes. My clenched fists.

Hector frowned. Shifted his feet. Suddenly nervous. A trait he didn't ordinarily display.

"You no have?" he asked, his expression guarded, wary.

I replied in a way I knew he'd understand.

"If I did, he'd already be dead."

"Dios," he whispered on a long slow breath.

Yeah, he got it.

"Ranger, I fuck up. Thees man. Thees Eeevanston Whitehall. He is no, how you say?"

He switched to Spanish in a struggle for words, "El hombre que te corre?"

_The man who runs you._

"My handler? No, Hector, he's not, but he wants to be."

That and much more according to what Harry Dolan had told me before I left him alone with his memories and his bottle of rotgut tequila.

"Thees Eeevanston Whitehall is a danger to Bomber?"

I nodded. "He's already hurt her once."

"Tank put copies of everything I find in your safe." He lifted his chin in the direction of the bedroom and my office. "Up here."

After my conversation with Cal and Junior, it was a relief to have someone anticipate what I wanted.

"I can help?"

"You willing to do some more research?"

Foolish question.

"What you want to know?" he asked, subdued, but smiling.

Hector lived to hack.

"Anything and everything."

"You got it, Boss."

#####

I sent him for his laptop and went to retrieve the information from my safe.

The locking mechanism beeped as I punched in each number of the combination and the door swung open easily when I finished the sequence.

I reached for the files, but was stopped by the sight of a small square box. I hadn't forgotten it was there. It had been there for a long time, purchased not long after I met one Stephanie Plum. A symbol of what I wanted and was sure I'd never have. I'd come close to selling it back to the jeweler when Steph chose the cop, but couldn't bring myself to do it. When she moved in with me, I began to dream again.

What surprised me now was that the box hadn't been pushed aside, but sat on top of everything else.

Tank.

He'd been in the safe at least two times, once to find the files I'd left for him regarding the reasons for my arrest and once to secure the data about Whitehall.

Obviously he had seen the box. Had he looked inside?

Would I have looked inside?

Yes, absolutely.

Maybe he thought it was a family heirloom.

Maybe he thought pigs could fly.

The ring didn't look like a family heirloom; it looked like a ring I would buy for Stephanie Plum.

Had he mentioned it to her? He'd had such a damned hard on about full disclosure.

Seemed like a moot point.

The outer door opened and closed. Hector was back.

"Set up in the kitchen, Amigo," I called out. "I'll be right there."

I took the box and went to my dresser. Opened the top drawer. My dog tags were buried somewhere beneath my underwear. I hadn't worn them for quite some time. Hell, even when I was actually in the Army there'd been missions when I hadn't worn them. The missions where I understood no one would claim or come for me if I was caught.

I left the tags. Took the chain. Threaded it through the ring. Hung it around my neck. Tucked under my shirt.

Just for safekeeping.

#####

We worked through what was left of the night, Hector's fingers nimble on the keyboard, my eyes gritty from keeping up with his output.

Evanston Whitehall was real and he had studied at Columbia, but he hadn't graduated at the top of his class. In fact, he hadn't graduated at all. Columbia apparently frowned on granting diplomas to students who assaulted professors over differing ideology.

More disturbing were the files Hector unlocked confirming everything Harry Dolan had shared with me. Medical files revealing a diagnosis of megalomania with sociopathic tendencies. A man with connections and a trust fund large enough to make that diagnosis go away. A man with delusions of grandeur and no moral compass to guide him to his goals.

Hector hit a final key and looked up at me, his eyes filled with concern.

"Thees is a bad man, Ranger."

"That he is."

"I should have seen these things before. Lo siento. I am sorry."

"Tank and Stephanie were asking you to answer different questions."

"But I make it so they can find him."

"Wasn't your fault. That's what they wanted you to do and...I can find him too."

In time, I prayed.

Hector stood up, his back straight, his face solemn. He made a fist with his right hand and ceremoniously brought it to his heart.

"Yo lo mate por ti, Ranger," he said.

_I kill him for you._

"For you, for Bomber. I will keel thees Eeevanston Whitehall."

You had to admire a man who took responsibility.

"Thank you, Hector. Not this time. This one is all mine."

Hector understood. I knew he would.

TBC


	32. Chapter 32

Not my characters, they belong to Janet Evanovich, but as long as Ranger can come out and play I can live with that.

Think maybe I am getting around to the beginning of the end. Here we go!

The Right To Remain Silent

by

SueB

Chapter 32

Mile after mile.

After mile.

The Jersey Turnpike.

I-95.

Driving was faster than filing a flight plan and precluded unwelcome speculation about my arsenal.

I unleashed the Turbo, trusting in the most advanced radar detector money could buy to keep me from being stopped. The Porsche's powerful engine easily consumed the distance and concentrating on the motor's well-tuned whine helped me to think.

My zone.

That's what Steph called it.

Babe.

If Whitehall got his hands on her...

I kept the pedal on the floor.

#####

"What?"

A mirror hung above the battered chest of drawers. It's imperfections distorted Steph's features but even with the wavering glass I could tell when her attention shifted from her uncooperative curls to my reflection.

And the cell phone at my ear.

"Tank?"

It had been 10:30 by the time we got our shit together and left Trenton. I thought Steph might sleep in the car, but she alternated between tense silence and rockin' out to a Springsteen marathon on the radio.

Couldn't say for sure which I preferred.

I was beat when we got to the Beltway, but she was still wired. We'd stopped at this 'cash-for-no-questions-asked' motel after I pointed out that scouting our upscale destination in the middle of the night might not be the best idea. Hell, even in broad daylight I didn't much look like your typical Georgetown tourist.

"Tell me!"

When the rock n' roll turned off, Steph's adrenaline feed did too. She crashed once we hit the room, collapsed on the bed. She didn't resist when I removed her shoes, covered her. The weary bruising under her eyes had only gotten worse.

"We're going to find Ranger, aren't we, Tank?" she whispered.

God, I hoped so.

I couldn't stop myself from running my thumb across her cheek to erase the tear that escaped when she blinked.

"We'll find him," I said with considerably more confidence than I felt. Even once we knew where to look we'd only find Ranger if he wanted to be found. I doubted he did.

"Don't worry," I told her.

"All right." She said, believing me and then, "Thank you, Tank."

She damn near broke my heart.

"Get some shut-eye. Both need a little rest before we head out. OK?"

"OK," she agreed, curling into a tight ball and falling dead asleep.

I eased into the room's only chair and switched my phone to silent. I wasn't expecting any calls and no way I wanted Steph disturbed. Besides, the chair wasn't near big enough for me and I'd spent half my life sleeping on high alert. I'd know if my phone went off.

Except I didn't.

And I missed him.

Steph dropped her brush when she spun around to face me. It clattered to the floor after bouncing hard on the chest and adding a new dent to its troubled history.

"No!" she cried, her eyes wide with panic, her face pale and strained. "No! Oh, no! It's Ranger isn't it? He's..."

At the darkest point of this ordeal Steph believed...no, knew with unwavering certainty, that Ranger was alive and she fought hard to convince the rest of us. But now she didn't trust her instincts. Ranger's silence on everything that mattered had short-circuited her connection.

She thought we'd lost him.

I rushed to reassure her. "He's okay."

Pissed, deadly, but okay.

She leaned against the chest, her fingers gripped white-knuckled on the edge, gasping in relief.

The message was short, cryptic. She wouldn't like it and I was enough of a coward that I didn't want her to hear it from me. I put the phone on speaker.

The tiny room filled with the deep menacing rumble of Ranger's voice.

"Take...her...home."

#####

Breathe.

Drive.

Breathe.

Get there first.

Trust Tank.

_Tank's angry. Rightly so. _

Doesn't matter. He'll do what I asked. He's my friend.

_Is he? Still? You sure? And, for the record, you didn't ask. You ordered. _

Even better. He's a soldier. He'll follow orders.

_This isn't the Army. And you're an asshole._

That much hasn't changed.

_No, but everything else has._

How so?

_Don't be stupid. Now there's Stephanie. He's with her on this. Has been from the beginning. _

So he'll protect her.

_Did you give him a reason?_

No.

_Haven't learned shit, have you? _

He doesn't need a reason.

_Stephanie does. Like Tank's been saying all along. He's right and you know it, but you can't handle it. It's why you beat the crap out of him. Not your finest moment by the way. _

"Damn it!"

Why the fuck didn't he pick up? Where were they?

Breathe.

Drive.

Breathe.

Get there first.

_Call him again._

#####

I was still holding the phone when it rang.

Brrrrring.

"No!"

I startled at Steph's sharp command, my thumb poised on answer.

Brrrrring.

"Don't. Don't answer it."

Brrrrring!

"But Steph it's..."

"Ranger. Right?"

Brrrrring!

Was it my imagination or had the ringtone gotten louder, more insistent. Ranger on the other end willing me to take the call.

Brrrrring!

"You wanted to talk to him," I said softly. "Here's your chance."

"Face to face. Not like this."

I hated to say it. "Maybe your only chance."

"I told you before. I'll go to him if I have to."

Her mouth set in a hard straight line. She wasn't backing down.

Brrrrri...

Abruptly, the call cut off. I stared at Steph as a jingle broke the silence signaling voicemail.

I shook my head. "I don't understand."

"What do you think that message says?" she asked nodding at the phone.

I was about to venture a guess when I saw the expectant eyebrow she raised in perfect imitation of Ranger and thought better of it.

She answered for me.

"That's right, he won't listen. He'll be stubborn as hell and every bit as adamant as before about my going home with no explanation as to why. And then he'll go off and get himself killed."

She went on, "Well, I'm not going home until I know how to find him, Tank, and I don't want to argue about it. Not with you and especially not with him. I have to see him."

"Steph, he could be halfway around the world."

"Or he could be around the block," she countered. "Look, I know no one is going to hand us a map with an X labeled 'Find Ranger Here', but if this Whitehall guy is his new handler, he's the only shot we've got. What can it hurt to talk to him? Maybe he can call him in. Say there's an emergency."

Time for a painful reality check.

"Steph, if Ranger's on assignment, emergency or not, no one's going to call him in and, he's good, but..." I had to stop. Hard as I tried, I could never get over seeing Ranger leave when I wasn't going along to watch his back. "There's always the possibility that...that.."

"that he'll die," she said.

"Yeah. It's there, that possibility. Every time he goes out." I locked my eyes on hers. "Can you live with not having called him back if that happens? Think about it."

She blinked. I had her. Then she said, "I have thought about it."

Damn.

"Ranger went after Harry Dolan. Dolan betrayed him. Talk about being on a mission. He'll be back to report 'cause there's no way in hell he screws that up. Am I right?"

She had a point. She was killing me. I gave it one more try.

"It's clear Ranger doesn't want you involved."

"Too damn bad," she exploded. I'm about as involved as I can get. So are you. Tank, please, we're already here. One visit to Whitehall and you can take me straight home. I promise."

She held up three fingers in the universal pledge sign. "Scout's Honor."

Hard to argue with that. I sighed. "All right. I'll shower, we'll see Whitehall and be on the way home by noon. Okay?"

"Okay."

Good. With any luck Whitehall would be unavailable, off doing some spooky spy stuff and, although I hated to admit it mattered, I would keep my ass out of Ranger's sling.

#####

I shaved, showered. Left the water running. Pulled on my jeans and fished my phone out of the pocket. Beyond the door everything was quiet. Maybe Steph had crashed again. She'd never hear me.

I punched '1' for Ranger.

The call connected, but there was no cheery hello on the other end. Not even a 'Yo'.

"Ranger?"

There was silence for another beat, then.

"Tell me that's highway noise I'm hearing in the background, Tank, because if Stephanie's not on the road back to Trenton, your balls are mine for breakfast."

Shit. How could he royally piss me off and still make me feel like I was up for court martial?

To hell with that. I'd had enough.

"Gee Ranger, you're alive. Good to know. Steph'll be glad to hear it."

"You glad?"

"Me? I couldn't care one way or the other, but she came all the way to D.C. looking for you. You might stop by. If you're in the neighborhood that is."

"I have business."

Business. Someone was going to die.

"Save us a trip to Georgetown," I added.

"No!"

Ranger's voice broke and just like that our war of words was over. Fear knotted in my gut.

"She can't go to Georgetown."

"Gonna be hard to prevent unless she sees you."

"For God's sake, Tank, stop her. You're bigger than she is. Pick her up, throw her in the damn car and get the hell out. Don't let her get anywhere near Evanston Whitehall."

"What's goin' on Rangeman?"

There was nothing on the other end but the sound of Ranger struggling to control his breathing. Not something I was used to hearing and I didn't like it much.

When he didn't answer, I asked, "You find Dolan?"

He inhaled slowly and answered. "Yeah, I found him." Another breath. "He's clean."

"Clean?" I really didn't understand, but he wasn't finished.

"Evanston Whitehall isn't."

And then I did.

"You're here to kill him."

"Yes."

"That the only way?"

"He's smart, rich, connected and insane."

"Hell of a combination."

"No shit."

"How can I help?"

"Take...her...home."

We were back to square one.

#####

"You better talk to her."

"All right."

I shut the shower off and opened the door. I hadn't realized there was so much steam. At first I couldn't see.

It was still quiet. Too quiet. I waved my arm to clear the air and that's when I saw it. The piece of paper lying on the chest, anchored by her brush.

"Aw, no. Hell no."

"What?" Ranger demanded. "What is it?"

A note. It read - _I know you called Ranger, Tank. It's okay. You couldn't help yourself, I get it. Maybe should have told you, the Girl Scouts kicked me out. Later. Love, Steph. _

"Tank?! Tank...?!"

He was going to self-destruct. I thought I might join him.

"She's gone, Rangeman. She's gone.

TBC


	33. Chapter 33

Not my characters, they belong to Janet Evanovich, but as long as Ranger can come out and play I can live with that.

Note: You probably thought this story had been abandoned. I don't blame you; its been forever since the last update. But...nothing could be further from the truth! The truth is that for the past several months my day job has been sucking up hours after 5 and on the weekends not to mention brain cells leaving me little time and less creative energy. The good news is this story has not and will not be abandoned. The bad news is the day job isn't letting up any time soon and I kind of need it because I have this terrible habit of liking to eat. So, sorry updates are slow. They will be coming. Thanks for waiting. Hope this one was worth it.

The Right To Remain Silent

by

SueB

Chapter 33

"You have a ride?"

"We drove one of the Escala..."

Tank's words petered out when he understood what I was asking.

I heard a window blind rattle followed by a door opening and then slamming shut.

"Missing?"

"Fuck."

"I'm guessin' that's a yes."

Could work for me. An Escalade was a big vehicle and Georgetown wasn't known for generous parking. Might slow her down. Maybe enough for me to catch up.

"Get to to Whitehall's. Find a way."

Tank's voice pitched deep and rough, the way it did when he was seriously perturbed.

Steph could do that to people.

"Don't worry," he said. "I'll be there."

"Tank."

"What?"

"If you're gonna steal a car..."

"Yeah."

"Don't get caught."

"Thanks. I'll keep that in mind," he muttered.

#####

Undeniably, my plans for tweaking the world order would be impossible without the wonder of cyberspace. I'm in sync with digital, but nothing gets me going in the morning like a healthy crap accompanied by an old-fashioned print copy of The Washington Post.

Which explained why I was pissed, not to mention constipated, when my newspaper, with its 'home delivery promised by 6 a.m.', was late. I'd have to break out the iPad to keep my gut from cramping. It wasn't the same.

But things happen for a reason. If I hadn't been checking the front door every five minutes, I would have missed the big black Escalade making repeated passes down my street. It's color, like-new shine and Jersey plates tagged it. Signature RangeMan. One of Manoso's.

By now he should have eliminated Harry Dolan. I expected him to check in any time, but, even if I had shared my home address, I doubted he'd show up driving a company car. He was more subtle than that.

Subtle and deadly.

Sterling qualities for an assassin. Manoso had them in spades. I'd chosen him because he was the best in the business.

I wanted Harry Dolan dead, but I didn't order his termination. I could be subtle too. Trusting I could lead Manoso to a decision in my favor, I carefully crafted an illusion of his handler's betrayal. One that included the murder of Stephanie Plum. I was certain the woman's death would send him after Dolan with no questions asked and have the added advantage of patching the one chink I saw in his armor. He hadn't been hard to convince.

Too bad the bitch moved.

In hindsight, the miss may have been a fortunate misstep. If my threat to put him behind bars for life didn't guarantee Manoso's cooperation, surely I could find a way to use his, however misguided, concern for Plum to make certain he continued to see things my way. Once he'd exhausted his usefulness, an unfortunate lover's spat resulting in murder and suicide would provide an ending with a nice dramatic flair. Given the man's violent reputation, the scenario wouldn't be hard to sell. If Plum became too much of a distraction in the meantime...well, I'd cross that bridge when I came to it.

In the course of my musings I'd gone to the kitchen for coffee. As I filled my cup there was a solid _thrump_ at the front door.

The newspaper. Finally.

I went to retrieve it and, would you look at that. Miracles do happen.

A parking space the size of Texas had opened up directly across the street. It was large enough to accommodate a big, black, shiny Escalade. Standing on the sidewalk, clutching my tardy Washington Post stood an appealing woman exhibiting an intriguing mixture of bravado and 'deer in the headlights'.

"Mr. Whitehall?" she asked when I opened the door. "Evanston Whitehall?"

I nodded. Gave her a smile.

I'm...Stephanie..."

"Plum," I supplied. "Yes, I know."

Her eyes really were an amazing shade of blue. They widened at my recognition. Not sure it was a good thing.

"You know who I am," she said.

"It's my business to know," I told her.

She frowned, but I could tell she wasn't too surprised. Even if she didn't have specifics, she understood what Manoso did for a living and what that entailed.

"Can I help you?" I asked.

Lifting her chin, she met my eyes. Thought about it. "Yes," she decided. "I need to see Ranger."

"You better come in," I said, stepping aside to allow her entry.

She didn't hesitate.

My morning constitution would have to wait a little longer.

#####

"Damn! Damn it!"

I smacked my hand hard against the steering wheel.

Five minutes. Five lousy minutes.

Not even five. Two. Two would have done it. I could have stopped her with Whitehall none the wiser. Instead I had to watch as he ushered Steph into the house.

I considered giving the steering wheel another shot, but settled for some deep breathing. Battering the car wasn't going to help. Neither was losing control. Especially not losing control.

I grabbed my phone and punched in Tank's number.

He answered in one.

"Yo."

"Too late," I said without preamble.

"Damn!"

"My sentiments exactly."

"Now what?"

"Where are you?"

"On my way."

"ETA?"

"Ten minutes give or take."

"What are you driving?"

There was a second of silence.

"Old Mini Cooper. Dark green."

"A Mini Cooper?"

I struggled to picture it. Came up with a cartoon. Tank and the car would be roughly the same size. He must have needed a shoe horn to get in and it might take the jaws of life to get him out again.

"Problem?" he snarled, translated as _'shut the fuck up'_. "It was available," he added. "Motel manager's."

For a price I thought. Tank's wallet had to be considerably lighter. Maybe next time he'd keep track of his keys.

Next time. Hell. I prayed there never was a next time.

"What are you gonna do?"

Good question. My first inclination was to storm the door...guns blazing.

When I didn't answer right away he asked, "You goin' in?"

First inclinations weren't always the best.

"No."

"No?"

"Not until she comes out."

"Rangeman?"

Tank's voice broke. The sound twisted in my gut.

"Yeah?"

"You sure she's comin' out?"

If she didn't, Evanston Whitehall and I were both going straight to hell.

He'd be first.

The honest answer to the question was no, I wasn't sure. Instead, more than likely to convince myself, I said, "Whitehall sensed I'd go after Harry if I thought he was behind the attack on Stephanie."

"And he was right," Tank pointed out.

"Yeah," I agreed, "but only so far. Whitehall doesn't know me. Not really. He thought I'd shoot first. Counted on it. He can't hurt Steph now without tipping his hand."

"Maybe that's true, but I still don't like it."

I lost it. "Christ, Tank. You think I do?"

It was harder to convince myself than I thought.

"I'm sorry, Rangeman," Tank said and then, "Never shouda let her out of my sight."

He was beating himself up. Hell, I'd already done that to him. "Not your fault," I told him.

No, not his fault. My fault. This was all on me, from the beginning. Damage control was way overdue and maybe impossible.

There was a lot that needed fixing.

"Here's how it's going down."

#####

There was new construction around the block. A townhouse. For sale. Vacant. With a garage. That's where I stashed the Turbo.

My phone vibrated against my hip. Tank texting. Already set. Guess it was easier to park a Mini Cooper than it was an Escalade.

Whitehall's posh digs included a large deck off the rear. A built-in barbecue flanked by lattice-work provided adequate cover and a view.

Vertical blinds on a glass sliding door had been opened enough to allow the morning light. The panels striped Steph's face with shadows, but I had a perfect line of sight.

He'd seated her in a cozy eating nook. Clearly Whitehall hadn't done his own decorating. The space was too warm and friendly to be his work.

Steph sat straight and still, hands in her lap. Someone else might think her calm, collected, but I knew better. Her foot jiggled up and down and her eyes darted around the room. The only spot they landed for any length of time was on a plate of donuts in the center of the table, its contents causing me to wonder exactly how much the man plying her with pastries knew about my Babe.

A sudden sharp pain in my chest reminded me she wasn't my Babe. Not any more. I'd driven her away. She'd walked and I'd let her go.

Why was she determined to see me?

I knew she meant serious business when she smiled politely, passed on the donuts and shook her head declining the coffee Whitehall poured for her.

He insisted.

When he approached her with the steaming mug, I couldn't help myself. I shifted positions, my body going instantly from watchful to ready.

Steph accepted the mug, but stood up as she did so. I breathed a little easier when she put some distance between them, less so when she made for the slider.

She'd been looking in the other direction when I moved. She couldn't have seen me.

Could she?

She gazed outside, took a sip of coffee, swallowed. Wrinkled her nose. Must be strong. With her free hand she nudged a slat of the blind aside to get a better view. She stared directly at the spot where I crouched concealed.

I held my breath. Like that would help to hide me.

She squinted, frowned. Letting the blind fall back into place, she fingered a curl that had escaped from her pony tail. I thought she would tuck it behind her ear. Instead, she lifted one shoulder, stared again at my location and lightly ran her fingers across the back of her neck.

Does she know I'm here?

Not long ago I wouldn't have questioned our connection.

Now? Damn.

I closed my eyes and sent a silent message.

_Get out. Come on. Come on. Get out. Get out now! _

Did I reach her? Would she understand? Was I nuts?

Probably, but when I opened my eyes it looked like she was wrapping things up. She said something to Whitehall and put the mug on the table.

He responded, his expression serious, sympathetic.

I'd have given an arm to have audio. Whatever he said lit her face with a smile.

She came around the table and offered her hand. He took it in both of his. My skin crawled when he held on longer than necessary.

I wanted Steph gone when I ended Whitehall's sorry existence, but, so help me, if he made a move on her, I'd go through the glass right now and beat the fucker to a bloody pulp.

My Abuela Manoso always preached to me that patience was a virtue. God knows I needed at least one of those.

So I waited.

It took a minute, but Steph finally managed to liberate her hand without my intervention. When she disappeared down the hallway leading to the front door followed by Whitehall, I exhaled in relief and alerted Tank.

I'd already scouted a first floor bedroom window that would allow me access to the interior. For someone who fancied himself a player in the intelligence game, old Evan's security system was frighteningly easy to disarm. If not for the fact that he'd be dead within the hour, I'd advise him to call RangeMan for a consultation.

I wanted to put a bullet in his head the second he showed his face. Quick. Easy. One and done. Out of here. Too easy. Besides, contrary to my would be handler's opinion of me, shooting when I had questions wasn't my style. And I had questions. More than I cared to count.

#####

I couldn't read his face, but if Whitehall was surprised to find me resting my butt against his designer table when he returned to his kitchen, he covered it well.

"Nice of you to drop in, Manoso. 'Bout time I heard from you."

He didn't mention Stephanie and neither did I.

"Been busy."

Like Steph, I declined his coffee. With me he didn't force the issue. Wise choice.

"Tell me while we eat," he said, snagging a donut.

"Breakfast of Champions? No thanks."

Mouth full. No response but a smile.

"You know those things will kill you," I added.

With a snort, he wiped some crumbs with the back of his hand.

"Naw, when it's my time to go I'm bettin' it won't be fat and sugar takes me out."

He was dead right. He just didn't know it. Not yet.

Time was wasting.

"What's next?" I asked.

"Next?"

His look said _Whadda ya mean?_.

"Cut the crap. Coy doesn't suit you. You wanted Dolan. Dolan's handled."

"Dead?"

"You sure you want details? 'Cause I'd think you'd go with plausible deniability."

He reconsidered.

"You're right. Details won't be necessary."

"So?"

Not to be rushed, Whitehall regarded me with a smug, self-satisfied smile.

"Know what Harry Dolan's problem was?" he asked.

Asked rhetorically, I realized when he went on without waiting for my answer.

"Harry Dolan had no vision.

"No vision?"

"That's right. He had you. Look what he could have done with you."

"You have vision, don't you? What would you do with me?"

No way it could be good.

He stared off into space. Into the future maybe.

"Why I'd rule the world," he said.

And proceeded to outline a terrifying string of assassinations designed to create chaos around the globe.

A future of his own making.

Any doubts I had about killing Evanston Whitehall vanished. The man was insane. Worse, he was evil. He had to be stopped and only dead would do it.

All at once, from somewhere in the house, I picked up the sound of running water. Too late to investigate. No matter the consequences to me, this was ending here and now. There would be no reign of terror.

"You sanction these hits?" I asked.

"I did," he answered. Proud of it.

A final nail in his coffin.

"...and you're going to carry them out."

He was crazy enough to think I'd welcome participation in his hellish scheme.

"I don't think so," I responded, reaching for my weapon.

My phone vibrated. That would be Tank letting me know Steph was safely away.

But, at the same time, I heard a voice coming from the hallway.

A voice I knew. Familiar. Sweet. A voice that called out...

"Ranger."

TBC


	34. Chapter 34

Not my characters, they belong to Janet Evanovich, but as long as Ranger can come out and play I can live with that.

I know. I know. It's been a long time. All right, it's been only a day shy of 10 months. (See, I'm counting.) Blame it on the Rabbit Hole that is my day job which sucks up more time than I have and leaves me with few, if any, creative brain cells. And, be glad I didn't post the first go round of this chapter because it was awful. This one might be awful too, I'm not sure, but I know its better than the first try. Just be assured that this story has not been abandoned, there isn't a day I don't think about it, but I can't always get it written down. And it will be finished. I simply don't know how long it will take. The Rabbit Hole still calls. Thanks for waiting. SueB

**The Right To Remain Silent**

**by**

**SueB**

Chapter 34

Maybe I was hearing things.

"You are here," Steph said. "I knew it."

Maybe not.

She stepped out of the dimly-lit hallway, flesh and blood confirmation that my ears were working perfectly.

She was here too. Not gone. Not safe. Making my heart ache.

And seriously raising the stakes.

Rabid to share his master plan in spite of my lack of enthusiasm, Whitehall had forgotten he still had a visitor. Her appearance seemed to trigger an understanding of his situation that my firearm and refusal to cooperate had failed to do.

He was finished. His grand agenda wasn't going to fly. The realization didn't sit well.

"You," he muttered when he saw her, pushing his chair back and getting up from the table. He clutched a half-eaten donut in his fist. It crumbled, scattering sugary debris down his pant leg.

Fixed on me, Steph missed the change in Whitehall's expression as it morphed from gracious host to thwarted evil mastermind in the space of one ruined pastry.

"What's going on?" she asked, her concern punctuated by a frown and a worried glance at the gun in my hand.

It wasn't the time to explain that Whitehall was a monster, not a friend.

Hell, who was I kidding, it was never the time for explanations. There were too many things I didn't want her to know.

I was better at giving orders.

"Get out, Stephanie. Tank's waiting and he's not happy."

She responded with a lift of her chin and a look that said 'tough shit'.

I'd have been more surprised if she'd followed my command and, if I was honest, a little disappointed. This determined woman, standing her ground, was every inch my Babe.

"Ranger, what are you doing?"

_Besides fucking things up?_

I figured my objective was clear considering I had a '9 mil' targeted on Whitehall's center mass. He had to be stopped before it was too late. Before he found someone willing to do his dirty work. It was too easy for him to abuse his wealth and power. Only death guaranteed he couldn't spread his atrocities worldwide.

She'd seen me kill before. But not like this. In cold blood. She had no idea how comfortable I was with pulling the trigger on an unarmed man, but she was about to find out if I couldn't convince her to leave.

"You can't…..."

"Can't what?" I asked.

"You can't...you can't just kill him," she whispered.

She thought I was the monster.

Probably not far from wrong although I liked to think that all my kills were righteous. Carried out to make the world a better place. It helped me sleep at night.

No doubt Whitehall was of the same opinion and we weren't so very different.

Okay. She thought I was the monster...I'd give her the monster. Prove her right. It might work. Worth a try if it would drive her away. God knows I'd had plenty of practice.

"Oh I can. Gonna redecorate this whole damn designer kitchen with his insides. Might be messy. You wanna stay and watch that's fine. Otherwise..." I threw my thumb in the door's direction. "Your choice."

Her eyes widened, but she stayed put.

"Ranger, he's..."

"He's what?" I cut in. "A good guy? A bad guy?"

I went on before she could answer. "Doesn't matter, Babe. Not to me. This is what I do. My job. I'm very good at it. And damn well-paid."

I took my eyes off Whitehall just long enough to look at her and give my next words added weight.

"By the highest bidder."

She shook her head. Still not buying it. "No, Ranger," she said. "That's not true."

"Yeah? You sure?"

She replied in the soft, gentle voice you might use to soothe a frighted animal...or talk a man off a ledge.

"I know you," she said. "I'm sure."

The strength of her conviction sliced right through me along with the certainty that my plan had backfired. Stubborn, stubborn woman. I should have known. She'd do anything to save my soul, even protect Whitehall's miserable life.

Of course she didn't know his was a miserable life. Like so many other things, I hadn't shared that little piece of information.

I gave it a last shot. My soul was for shit anyway.

"You stupid interfering bitch. You don't know jack. Get the fuck out!"

"Ohhh..." She gasped like I'd punched her in the gut. Good. Had I done enough? Hurt her? Would she run?

_Babe...run. Please run._

An ugly sound erupted on the sidelines...Whitehall laughing.

Laughing.

The son-of-a-bitch.

He'd regrouped. Taken advantage of my lapse in focus to move and put the counter dividing the eating space from the business side of the kitchen between us. I could see him weighing his options.

As though he had options.

He didn't. Not from where I stood.

"Stop right there," I told him.

"Or what?" he challenged. "You'll shoot me? Huh? Don't think so. Shoulda done that already."

He was right. If I had dropped the bastard the second he showed his face, we wouldn't be having this conversation, but my compulsive need to hear him condemn himself had slammed that window of opportunity.

Hell. I could adapt. If I worked with should haves and second guesses as part of my MO, I'd have been dead long ago.

But, even after my cruel slur, Steph stood with her feet planted and I was left with a choice between executing Whitehall while she watched from the front row or...walking and taking a chance on a future shot, one complicated by his knowledge that I was not an ally.

A rock and a hard place. Both options unacceptable.

"Know what I think, Manoso?"

"No, Whitehall, I don't and running your mouth isn't going to improve your circumstances. What's more, I don't give a rat's ass."

"I think," he went on, making it obvious that even though I didn't want it, he was going to give me his opinion unless I pulled the trigger.

"...I'm glad you won't be working for me. Although, I'll admit I've lost time banking on you. I did my homework. You were the best, but, clearly, you don't have it anymore. That special nasty something you've always been known for? That edge? Poof! Gone. Like yesterday's news."

He slid a sly dirty smile in Steph's direction, "And I'm bettin' we both know why."

"She's got nothing to do with this, Whitehall."

"No? C'mon, Manoso, she's got everything to do with this. You believe otherwise you're either a liar or a fool."

He studied me. Deadly serious.

"I know you're a liar. Have to be...the work you do," he said, "but, I never took you for a fool."

This time he was wrong.

I was a fool and a selfish one at that.

The ring hung around my neck, scraping against my skin with every breath, reminded me how far my idiocy had gone. Why else would I believe that, given my history, I could have Stephanie, a home...a life where I slept without a gun in my hand?

The truth hurt.

"No! No! No, no!"

Steph was screaming.

Who knew the pain of shattered dreams could be so fierce.

Reality.

Shattered dreams didn't cause this kind of pain.

Bullets did.

Like the one ripping into my chest.

Fuck.

The '9 mil' hit the floor as my arms went leaden, my fingers numb. The knees were next to go.

I had a flash of clarity on my way down.

Whitehall.

Kitchen counter.

Access to a weapon.

Steph was going to die.

My fault.

Oh God.

I tried to move, failed and lay helpless as blood loss skewed perception.

My world shifted to slow motion with Steph frozen in place while Whithall strolled toward me, casually, his expression one of smug satisfaction. He toed the '9 mil' out of my reach. An unnecessary precaution considering my lack of mobility.

That's when she went for him. My beautiful, brave Babe. All tooth and snarl.

I thought he'd shoot. My demon nightmare. Watching her die. Unable to save her.

Instead he met her attack with his foot. A hard kick to her side that sent her sprawling.

"Not your time yet, Girlie," he growled. "Makin' plans for you. Might as well get somethin' out of this deal," he said under his breath.

With Steph dazed and breathless, Whitehall turned back to me.

"Who's finished now, Manoso?"

"Devil...Devil'll give me a pass from...from Hell to come for you...Whitehall," I managed.

He laughed again like I was regular stand-up funny, but not loudly enough to cover the unmistakeable sound of gunfire.

Two shots.

Steph was on her knees. Arms straight, both hands on my gun. A mix of horror and determination on her face.

Whitehall's mouth dropped open, his eyes wide with surprise. Steph's hit should have blown his body backwards, but he went straight up in the air before he fell. I didn't understand why until I heard the voice coming from somewhere behind me.

"Nice work, Ms. Plum. You lookin' for employment, might have something for you. And please don't shoot me. In spite of what you may have heard, I'm one of the good guys."

Two shots.

Harry Dolan.

What the fuc...

Delicate fingertips tremble on my cheek.

Voices.

Ranger...Ranger. Oh, God, Ranger.

Steph's. Soft. Anxious.

Time to work, Manoso. Quit slakin' off.

Dolan. Pressing on my chest. Yeah, who was he to talk?

C'mon, Rangeman, c'mon.

Tank too?

"Crowded...in here," I breathed.

There was what sounded like a collective exhale. Relief?

Steph cradled my head in her lap. Dolan knelt beside me with Tank hovering over his shoulder.

Harry let up on my chest, reaching to open my shirt. I seized his wrist, pain-fueled adrenaline giving me the strength to hold on.

I locked eyes with the two men.

"Get her...out of...here."

"No!" Steph protested, "I'm not leaving you." She stared down the men in question. "I'm not leaving him. Not like this."

But Dolan agreed with me.

"Ranger's right," he said. "You can't be found here. Either of you," he added including Tank.

"What difference does it make," Steph cried. "I shot him. You gonna explain that away?"

Dolan shrugged, "With Ranger's gun," he said evenly. "And, I shot him too. I can work with that."

If anyone could spin Steph out of this scenario, it would be Harry.

Tank was reluctant, but he got it.

"Steph, we have to go."

"But..."

"Babe. Go...Please."

She thought about arguing until she saw the grimace I couldn't control and heard Dolan say, "The sooner you go, the faster I can get him help."

In less than sixty seconds she was gone, leaving behind a sweet kiss and a tear that splashed on my chin and trickled down my neck.

Harry was cutting my shirt off before the door closed.

"Jesus, Ranger, no vest? Where the hell's your vest?"

"Wire...Harry...check for...wire."

"Wire!" he exploded.

"Proof...righteous kill."

"You took the time to wear a wire, but not a goddamn fucking vest?"

"She...was...already...in here."

To me that explained it all.

He located the wire and ripped the tape that held it secure.

I groaned. Struggled to breathe.

"Damn. Sorry. Easy. Take it easy."

He used one hand to continue pressure on the hole in my chest, pulled out his phone and texted with the other.

"Help's on the way," he told me. "Hold on. Help's coming."

I closed my eyes against the spiraling pain, nodded, then murmured, "Thank you."

"Huh? For what?"

He knew for what. I didn't need to explain. He'd gotten Steph away. There'd be no mention of her name in those countless 'eyes only' reports. He'd shield her from this entire ugly mess.

After one silent beat he said, "No wonder you want out."

Said like that was still a possibility.

I knew it wasn't.

His phone vibrated.

"They're here." He squeezed my arm as he got up. "Sit tight."

Not a problem.

It would be one of Harry's special teams, board certified, but not a regular ambulance or crew.

They were good. Fast, efficient, professional. They checked what was left of my vitals and shot me up with painkiller.

"Let's roll," the man in charge directed. "We don't move soon people, it's not gonna matter."

I was fading fast when another one observed, "Don't know who belongs to this rock, but she must be some woman."

Forcing my eyes open exhausted the last of my energy.

The medic had my dog tag chain dangling from his hand.

Harry took the chain. Held it up to examine the mangled ring hanging at its end.

"Too soon to tell," the guy said casting a skeptical glance at me, "but it might have saved his life."

"She is some woman," Harry said.

They had no idea I thought as consciousness slid into oblivion.

TBC


	35. Chapter 35

Not my characters, they belong to Janet Evanovich, but as long as Ranger can come out and play I can live with that.

**The Right To Remain Silent**

**by**

**SueB**

Chapter 35

Note: Are you proud of me? This chapter isn't as long as some, but hey, it's only been a month! The next one is playing ricochet in my brain. Hope you enjoy!

Additional Note 10/30/13 - It came to my attention today that there was confusion about this chapter. It is divided into two parts each of which involves different characters. Unfortunately, either I left out the dividing line or the system booted it, I'm not sure which. Either way, my mistake. I should have checked. I'm sorry. Haste makes waste they say. I think this should clear it up.

"You gonna help me out here, Santos, or stand there with your ear plastered to my door all day?"

I used one hand to pinch my temples, trying to stave off the headache building there. Held on to my temper with the other one.

Lester didn't budge, only waved his hand behind his back to shut me up.

Like that was gonna make me happy?

I wasn't happy. Hadn't been for a while. Not since coming back from DC with Steph. Leaving Ranger behind, wounded in more ways than one.

I raised my voice. Tried Santos again.

"Cause it occurred to me that maybe you've got some insight on new pairings for this week's schedule...you bein' such a popular guy an all."

He ignored me so I took my voice up another decibel.

"Hey! Dumb Ass! Ya know, try some different match ups? Ones where the partners don't want to kill each other? Christ, even Cal and Junior are snipin' like two ole' bitchin' biddies and they like to finish each other's sentences."

Lester turned around without a word, cracking the door enough so I could hear what was happening in the Control Room.

Instead of the tense angry silence and occasional snarl that had been the recent norm, laughter and warm, even cheerful, voices filtered through.

"Hey." "What's up?" "Good to see ya!" "How 'bout a hug over here!" "Been forever."

"There ya go," Lester said, gesturing at the door like he'd served up the solution to all our difficulties.

"Yeah, I hear. Steph dropped in. You're tellin' me she keeps us all human and civilized? Think I don't know that? Look, I understand the problem. It's assistance in fixin' it I'm after."

"Sooooo," Lester replied.

Man he could be infuriating. Made me want to...

Damn, I was doing it too. Wanting to take a stick and poke the nearest bear.

"We make sure she comes around more often," he explained patiently. "Stays longer."

The guys missed her. I missed her. Hell, I couldn't imagine how much Ranger must be missing her. Didn't want to. That just made me hurt all over.

We hadn't heard from the man himself, but Harry Dolan kept me apprised of Ranger's condition. Although it had been a long haul, he was healing. Physically anyway. Steph checked in regularly for updates on his progress, but usually by phone. Only once or twice had she come to the building.

"And we do that how? You got some bright ideas, Santos, I'm all ears."

Heaving an exasperated sigh, Lester shook his head like he couldn't believe I was too dumb to figure this out by myself.

He counted out the steps on his fingers.

"Bring Ranger back. Stash him and Bomber in a safe house. Lock the doors. Don't open 'em up until they both come out smilin'. Post guards if necessary. Get it?"

I got it. To his credit, he did have a plan, unfeasible though it might be.

My headache wasn't getting any better and my balls throbbed...not in a good way ...as I recalled the last time I'd tried forcing Ranger's hand.

"Is everything just sex to you, Santos?"

"Hey, it's a good plan. Sex goes a long way toward resolving differences."

"Yeah, well, you're the expert there. Right? And everything always turns out fine."

At least he had the intelligence to look embarrassed. Lester might be smooth and handsome, but his romantic hook-ups rarely ended well. Even so he held fast.

"C'mon, you got a better idea?" he asked.

Unfortunately, I didn't. I only wished it was that simple.

###########

"Hola, my beautiful sweet lady."

Ranger's Abuela Manoso sat at a small table situated in the rear shadows of the coffee shop. She'd saved the seat against the wall for me. I'd have chastised her for leaving her own back unprotected, but I knew she was watching my approach in a mirror that was part of the decor. Not much got by Abuela Manoso.

I came up behind her and leaned down, whispering in her ear, "Tenemos que dejar de vernos asi." _We have to stop meeting like this._

She snorted.

There was a time when, even knowing I had been a skilled assassin, she would have turned around and slapped me silly for being fresh, but the weeks spent working toward a common goal had built trust and a deep-seated affection between us.

I lifted her hand and brushed my lips across her work-worn knuckles before sitting down.

"Mmmm. Dulce," I murmured. "Sweet. So sweet."

"This is why you have no woman," she scolded, shaking a finger at me to make her point. One I had just kissed.

"I have plenty of women," I replied. "None as good as you though," I added, dramatically holding my hand to my heart.

Making no impression whatsoever.

"Ha. Plenty of women," she scoffed. "But not one woman. One special woman. You flirt. Too much." Her eyes narrowed. "Why you flirt so much?"

Only Ranger knew I'd lost my one special woman a long time ago. His grandmother didn't need that information, but I had a feeling if this conversation continued much longer she would worm it out of me. There was a way about her.

I took a sip of the strong, dark coffee she'd had ordered for me and changed the subject.

"How did you escape today?"

It was easy to see where Ranger got his good looks. His grandmother had been a beautiful woman. Hell, still was. Perfect bone structure. Hair, silvered, but thick and heavy. Clear skin, softly weathered. She'd aged well. But it was her eyes, near to black and sharply intelligent, that verified she shared DNA with my best man.

What he hadn't inherited was his blank face. At least not from her. She couldn't hide the mischief as she related, "I tell him I must see poor Mrs. Rodriguez. She throw out her rotten no-good husband. Forty-five years she put up with his foolishness."

"Foolishness? Infidelity?"

"Si. No more. She needs..."

"Moral support," I supplied.

"That's right. Moral support."

She sat back. Pleased with herself.

She'd even dressed for the part. Switched from her neatly pressed daytime house dress to a more suitable outfit. One not quite up to Mass on Sunday standards, but perfect for comforting a downhearted friend.

She made me laugh. Getting away from Ranger without being subjected to interrogation wasn't easy.

"You're way too good at this you know," I told her.

"At what too good?"

"Covert operations."

She frowned. I explained.

"Sneaking around. Making up stories. Telling lies."

"No!" she cried. "I no tell lies. Lying is a sin!"

"So poor Mrs. Rodriguez really does have a rotten no-good cheating husband?"

Her faced scrunched up like she'd sucked a lemon. Busted.

"The man's a saint," she admitted and then added crossly. "It's Mrs. Rodriguez who's the puta!"

I choked on my coffee to keep from spitting it on the table.

It was her turn to change the subject. She got down to business. Serious business...the reason for our meeting outside of Ranger's hearing.

"He tires sooner than he thinks he should," she said. "It makes him angry, but he gets stronger every day."

I nodded as she went on.

"And more restless."

"It was easier to talk about him when he was unconscious," I said.

"Don't! Don't say that!"

Fuck. How thoughtless could I be?

Her outburst had me reaching for her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "I'm sorry." I said. "Bad joke. Really bad joke."

My crew had rushed Ranger from Georgetown to a secure medical facility staffed by top notch physicians. He would have excellent care once he got there, but he almost didn't survive the trip. Things were touch and go. He knew it and the only family he asked me to contact was sitting across the table.

I broke every protocol to bring her to his bedside. She prayed for six solid days before he opened his eyes. Clearly, Abuela Manoso had a special relationship with God. It was also clear she loved her grandson with a ferocious intensity. She'd saved him once. She was determined to save him again.

Too bad she couldn't be my grandmother too.

"He ask. This morning."

"Asked what?"

"If I hear from you? When you coming back?"

I hadn't seen Ranger for ten days.

"What did you tell him?"

"What you say. You...taking out the garbage."

I knew she wouldn't understand the message I'd told her to relay. I knew Ranger would.

It had been a productive ten days ending with Evanston Whitehall's treachery and death wrapped up and tucked away in a file stamped so only those with the highest security clearance available could access it. His prominent family had been warned of significant consequences to their wealth and reputation should they rattle any cages. Turned out the warning wasn't necessary. He'd frightened them too. They were glad to be rid of him.

"He wants...to see you."

The catch in her voice took me by surprise, focused my attention.

I'd never seen her cry, not even early on when Ranger's prognosis had been dire. Now her eyes brimmed with tears.

"What's the matter?" I asked gently.

"I see the signs. He will ask you to give him work," she said, confirming what I already suspected.

We both knew how it was likely to end if Ranger went back into the field.

"I am afraid for him," she whispered as the first tear fell.

TBC


End file.
